


Absolutely No One's Dead!

by BarlowGirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993)
Genre: Christmas, Drunk Sex, M/M, Stiles POV, elf!Derek, i can't believe i wrote fanfiction with santa in it, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarlowGirl/pseuds/BarlowGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stiles broke Christmas. Stiles broke the star off the Christmas tree, the one that the first gift of Christmas goes under, the one that starts Christmas and has had the same star for hundreds of years and Stiles broke it. This is officially the worst thing Stiles has ever done. Including getting Scott turned into a werewolf. What’s a little lycanthropy ever hurt anyone? There are lots and lots of really great werewolves out there and Scott’s fine. So he gets a little fuzzy every full moon. At least he can enjoy a nice cobwebby room without the dust causing his lungs to close up.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>But this, this is terrible. Children all over the world are going to be disappointed because Stiles broke Christmas and Santa Claus, Santa freaking Claus is looking at Stiles like he’s going to end up on the naughty list and Stiles’ dad is going to give him that look and – </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Will you stop doing that?” Angry Eyebrow Elf mutters and shoves Stiles into a chair. “Seriously, stop panicking. You’re giving me a headache just looking at you.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>OR: The One Where Stiles is a Jack Skellington's grandson and Derek is an elf because of reasons.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> So! This is the first chapter of 12 and I will be putting one up every day from now (my birthday!) until the 24th. It's completely done so don't worry about the whole thing not getting posted even though it's a WIP. Much thanks to my partner in crime [Elle Marchpane](http://ellemarchpane.tumblr.com/) for encouraging me to get this thing done and for her wonderful betas.
> 
> Also, I'm not entirely sure how to tag this, so if at any point you think it needs one, feel free to tell me in the comments.

The thing Stiles hates most about Christmas Town is the snow. It only snows back home in Halloween Town once a year, on Christmas itself, because of That Time With Jack Skellington. Stiles likes the way autumn air nips at his cheeks, the sharp smell of crisp leaves, the way everything is cool and damp and lovely. Stiles most definitely is not a fan of all the snow. It gets into his shoes and soaks his socks and he’s always _cold_. 

“Just for five minutes?” Stiles asks. “Please?”

“We’re _working_ ,” Scott says, carefully hanging a bauble on the giant Christmas tree. Stiles is pretty sure that he’s seen ornaments _growing_ on the trees before. This place is so weird.

Stiles sorta flings tinsel at the other side of the tree. “I would work a lot better if I could feel my fingers.”

“They’re called gloves, dude.”

“I’m wearing them! Two layers!” Stiles waves his hands and tries to look as pathetic as possible. “C’mon, just cuddle me for five minutes, Scott, that’s all I’m asking. You know how I get cold. I’ve got no padding here.”

“I’m not cuddling you, Stiles.”

Stiles sighs and throws another clump of tinsel on the tree. “I hate you. I hate you a lot.”

Scott kicks Stiles off his tree a moment later. Apparently the tinsel is contraband and Scott, after strictly removing every strand, does not want his trees sullied by Stiles’ sloppy work. Whatever happened to so-called best friends? So much for loyalty. But fine. Whatever. Stiles will decorate his own trees. And they’ll be the best trees ever, a thousand times better than Scott’s and – ah, hell. Who’s Stiles trying to kid?

He gets bored ten minutes into randomly sticking things on the tree and throws a snowball at Scott’s head.

Except he misses.

And hits ones of the elves milling around.

“Crap,” Stiles mutters, hastily brushing snow off his gloves and turning back to the tree he’s supposed to be decorating. It’s pretty ugly, he’ll admit. He’s kind of done a terrible job. It’s not his fault, he swears. He just doesn’t have the knack for this kind of Christmas stuff.

A rough hand grabs his arm. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

_Crap_.

Stiles turns around and gives the elf his shiniest, best smile. It might so happen to be that his best smile is terrifying, but it's the thought that counts, right? “Um. I was overtaken with glee… from the Christmas spirit?”

Judging by the thunderous eyebrows, the elf isn’t buying it. “Right,” he says slowly. “I’m sure you were. Keep it under control or you’ll be working in the reindeer stalls.”

The sad thing is, Stiles has to take a moment to take about it. The sad thing is, reindeer shit actually sounds more appealing. At least the stable would be warm, right? And Scott might even go with him. He loves animals. He works with the vet at home, Deaton, helps take care of the cats and the bats and the rats. So actually Scott probably wouldn’t mind the chance to check out the reindeer.

Then Stiles sighs. Except he promised to not get into trouble. “Yeah, got it.”

He’s going to leave it at that, he is. He’s going to let it go, go back to decorating his pathetic Christmas tree, and go have hot chocolate with Scott somewhere warm when they’re done. He really, really is. He has absolutely no idea what possesses him to grab a handful of snow and throw it at the elf’s head.

Except he misses.

And knocks the glass star off the tree Scott’s decorating.

“Shit!”

Scott stares at him, jaw dropping. One of these days Stiles is going to have to tell him how crooked that makes him look. “Do you – did you – _Stiles_ , what did you just do?”

“I broke something? And I’m probably going to have to pay for it?”

Well. Stiles didn’t know elves could turn that red. That – that almost looks painful, actually. And if eyebrows could kill…

“Dude, you okay?”

And then Eyebrow Elf is grabbing his arm again.

“What, what is with the grabbing?” Stiles asks, waving his free hand at the grip Eyebrow Elf has on his arm. “What is your problem?”

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Eyebrow Elf grits out. “Move it. You, you’re coming, too,” he snaps, pointing at Scott who... appears to be trying to sneak away, the traitor.

Stiles sighs. “That thing is expensive, isn’t it? How many months’ allowance is this going to cost? I’m not even supposed to be on Christmas tree duty. I’m supposed to be doing toys.”

Angry Eyebrow Elf shoots a glare at him. Stiles will admit, he doesn’t look like the idea of a Christmas toymaker. He’s not exactly… jolly. In fact, considering the Stilinskis are direct descendents of Jack himself, he’s pretty much the opposite of jolly.

Stiles shrugs. “Apparently the children of today have become dark and twisted. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Angry Eyebrow Elf actually _growls_ at him. Not so wonderful, then.

Stiles sighs. This is gonna be fun.

 

 

Stiles broke Christmas. Stiles broke _the_ star off _the_ Christmas tree, the one that the first gift of Christmas goes under, the one that _starts_ Christmas and has had the same star for hundreds of years and _Stiles broke it_. This is officially the worst thing Stiles has ever done. Including getting Scott turned into a werewolf. What’s a little lycanthropy ever hurt anyone? There are lots and lots of really great werewolves out there and Scott’s fine. So he gets a little fuzzy every full moon. At least he can enjoy a nice cobwebby room without the dust causing his lungs to close up.

But this, this is terrible. Children all over the world are going to be disappointed because Stiles _broke Christmas_ and Santa Claus, Santa freaking Claus is looking at Stiles like he’s going to end up on the naughty list and Stiles’ dad is going to give him _that look_ and –

“Will you stop doing that?” Angry Eyebrow Elf mutters and shoves Stiles into a chair. “Seriously, stop panicking. You’re giving me a headache just looking at you.”

“ _I broke Christmas_ ,” Stiles hisses at him. “Do you know how disappointed in me my dad is going to be? Oh God, my grandfather is never going to let me live this down.”

“I’m sure that Jack can keep in mind his own Christmas… troubles,” Santa says mildly and Stiles shuts up. “Stiles, I’m afraid there was a great deal of magic involved in the making of that star.”

Stiles groans softly. Of course there was.

“And I’m afraid I will have to task you with replacing that star. It just wouldn’t be Christmas without it, you understand.” Santa opens one of the drawers of his desk and sets a red velvet bag and a roll of parchment on the top. “Since today is the twelfth., you’ll have twelve days, starting tomorrow, to find the twelve objects needed to create a new star.”

Twelve days. Of course.

“So, like, partridge in a pear tree, that kind of thing?” Stiles asks, slapping his hands against his thighs.

That gets a smile. “Not quite. You’ll have to wait and see. This list will show you what you need,” Santa says, lifting the roll of parchment. “The ink will start red, then turn green when you find the object you need that day and the next will be revealed. So. Tomorrow morning, show up nice and early and you and Derek here can be on your way.”

Stiles blinks. “Derek?”

“Me?” Angry Eyebrow Elf asks and oh.

Oh.

This is not gonna be fun.

 

 

When Stiles climbs out of the Christmas Town door, Angry Eyebrow – _Derek_ is already scowling.

“I don’t even know where we are,” he says.

Stiles rummages around in his bag and drags out the cell phone in the front pocket. As long as he keeps the phone off, the battery will stay charged in Halloween Town. If he turns it on… well, it kind of explodes. But only a little!

“Um… oh, you know what? My grandmother lives near here.” Stiles grins. “Sweet. We’ll go say hi and pick up my baby.”

His grandmother fusses over Derek, of course. Apparently she thinks his pointed ears are adorable. Who knew? And it’s actually a good thing, Stiles realizes as his grandmother forces a knit hat on Derek. He forgets, what with the whole thing where a fair amount of people where he lives are, you know, skeletons and zombies and his other grandmother, the ragdoll, but humans generally aren’t accustomed to elf ears. Not exactly the kind of thing they can exactly go traipsing around with in this world.

Then Grandmother fusses at him in Polish, leaves lipstick marks all over his face, and only lets them get going when Stiles brings up Santa Claus. And of course she sends them out with an actual picnic basket full of food.

“How’s my baby?” Stiles says as they go into the garage. Grandmother stopped driving a few years ago, much to her own distaste, but her car still sits sadly next to Stiles’ baby. He makes a mental note to talk to her soon about either selling it or hiring someone to drive it, to take her out for her errands and doctor’s appointments, maybe, depending on which way her budget leans. He’s finally getting old enough – in human years, that is – that she’s starting to let him take care of her the way his mother would have wanted.

Starting being the key word.

“What is that thing?” Derek asks and huh.

“Do you know what a car is?”

Derek nods. “Yeah, of course. Mrs. Claus has one. I’ve just never seen one that looks like… that.”

Stiles snorts. “ _That_ is a Jeep. And she’s beautiful,” he croons, gently patting his baby on the door. “Now get in before I make you walk for insulting her.”

 

 

“Where are you going?” Derek asks. He’s still got a death-grip on the oh-shit handle, but he looks a little less like he’s going to puke. Apparently he’s not a car elf. Apparently the next couple weeks are going to be _real_ fun.

Stiles waves his phone. “Party. My friend Heather, our moms knew each other, she’s throwing it. It’s her best friend’s birthday.”

“We’re supposed to be–”

“Trusting our instincts,” Stiles says loudly and turns up the music until Derek gives up.

Heather kisses Stiles on the cheek as soon as she comes up to him. They only see each other during the two months, usually March and April, the quiet months in Halloween Town, that he spends with his grandmother each year, but she’s his closest human friend.

“How’s Braeden?” he asks, crossing his fingers behind his back that they haven’t broken up in the last eight months.

“She’s great,” Heather says, ruffling her hand over his hair. “I’m really glad to see you, Stiles." 

“Same.” He glances around the room. “Is Danielle around? I should wish her happy birthday.”

“Somewhere around here.” Heather grins at him. “Last I saw her, there was some flirting going on so I’m keeping my distance for now. I’ll tell her when I see her that you say hi. Are you going to be in town long?”

He shrugs. “Just for the night, I think. Passing through.”

She glances over his shoulder at where Derek is lurking – _lurking_ , seriously, he’s a freaking _elf_ , how does he know how to lurk? – and smirks. “Gotcha. Grab me and say goodbye before you leave, okay?”

Then she’s kissing his cheek again and disappearing before he can protest. Not that she’d believe him without many, many details. She’s known him since he was an awkward kid who turned red and stammered whenever a cute boy or girl looked at him. Really, she knows far too much…

Stiles sighs and grabs Derek’s arm. “Well. You ever get drunk before?”

Judging by the look on his face, he’s not going to be convinced to try peppermint schnapps. Too bad. Getting elves drunk sounds like a grand ole time to Stiles.

“We need to find the first item,” Derek says, dropping his eyes to Stiles’ hand on his arm. He lifts them to Stiles’ face, then lowers them back to his arm and – wow, Stiles did not know that elves could look that murderous – back to Stiles’ face.

“I’m taking my hand off now.” Stiles pulls all his limbs back into his own space just to be safe. It takes a moment. “Yeah, fine. What’s the first thing?”

Derek takes the paper out of his ridiculous leather jacket pocket – seriously, _elf_ – and frowns at it. “Mistletoe.”

Stiles grins and slaps Derek’s shoulders, then hastily jumps back before the murder eyebrows start up again. “See, I’m a genius. Look.”

Because there, hanging in the middle of the entryway to the living room, is a nice, fresh sprig of mistletoe. Stiles is a genius and this is going to be so easy and – and Derek is grabbing his arm again, giving him the Angry Eyebrow Look.

“It’s not right.”

Stiles frowns. “What?”

“It’s not – nobody’s kissed under it. Somebody needs to kiss under it first.”

“How do you _know_ that?”

“Elf sense,” Derek says like that’s a normal thing.

Well, that throws a wrench in their plans.

Only a small wrench though. Stiles shrugs. “Well. Let’s go introduce you to Doritos.”

Derek gives him an unimpressed look.

“It’s a party, dude. Somebody is bound to make out under that thing eventually.”

 

 

It’s eleven-thirty. It’s eleven-thirty and they’ve been here for almost two hours. Stiles has gotten tipsy on cheap beer – schnapps is so much better, ugh, why do humans have such terrible taste in booze? – and is now stone-cold sober again, the party has passed into the drunken rave territory, somebody puked into the flower pot in Heather’s kitchen, and _nobody has kissed under the goddamn mistletoe_.

“We only have til midnight,” Derek mutters. “We can’t – this can’t be right. There’s no magic in mistletoe if it hasn’t been kissed under. It won’t work.”

Stiles looks around. Sighs. “Does it matter who kisses under it?”

Derek’s eyebrows draw further together. “No? It can be anyone, I think.”

Right. “Screw it. C’mon.”

“What?”

“Do not make me drag you over there by your ears, move,” Stiles hisses.

Derek winces, raising a hand to his ear as he goes where Stiles wants him to go.

Which is under the mistletoe.

Stiles bounces once on his toes, leans forward, and kisses Derek.


	2. Candy Cane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is up a little late because I slept in like whoa! But I hope you guys enjoy it.

Stiles taps his fingers against the steering wheel, talking around the most recent thing he’s chewing on. He’ll admit he’s got a bit of an oral fixation. So what? “Okay, look, it worked, right? The ink is all green now, we’re good. So how about we just pretend that the… thing… never happened and make this slightly less awkward, alright? So what’s the next thing?”

“Candy cane.”

Stiles goes cross-eyed trying to look at the candy cane he’s been working on for the last few dozen miles. “Please God tell me I’m not eating the magic candy cane.”

The angry eyebrows make a return as Derek rolls his eyes so hard his whole head kinda rolls. “You seriously think I’d let you eat the one we needed?”

“Maybe a little,” Stiles mutters and viciously crunches down.

 

 

Stiles spends two months every year in the human world. To honour his mother’s heritage, his father calls it whenever Jack needs to be reminded why his grandson’s leaving. He gets weird looks occasionally when he does something that humans apparently wouldn’t or when he doesn’t know what someone is talking about – like the hell is JerseyShore? But Derek, apparently, has never been in the human world. Stiles has to really fight himself not to smile in the way that scares the (other, normal, less grumpy) elves.

“Let’s go to the mall.”

There’s a moment where he has to debate the merits of caffeinating an elf. He has no proof that it’s a bad idea, but it just _seems_ like a bad idea, you know?

So he buys the biggest cup possible for Derek, makes it some sickening sweet concoction after Derek makes a face after the sip of Stiles’ black coffee Stiles forced on him to see if he’d like it. Christmas people, man. Personally, Stiles wants coffee as black as his soul and twice as strong, thanks. Apparently Derek’s soul is sweet like a peppermint white chocolate mocha. Extra whip.

“Oh holy jingle bells,” Derek mutters under his breath, wide-eyed, after he takes the first sip and that, that almost breaks Stiles.

_Elves_ , dude.

Stiles eats three huge cinnamon rolls just wandering the mall. Something about the human world or his human form, maybe, he’s never quite been sure which, makes him crave carbs like crazy the first few days before things settle down.

“So,” he says, licking cinnamon off his fingers. “Whatcha wanna do?”

 

 

“No.”

“Shoot stuff in the arcade?”

“No.”

“Watch the puppies at the pet store?”

“No.”

“Scare the goldfish at Walmart?”

“ _No_.”

“Photobooth?”

“No.”

“Do you even know what half that stuff is?”

Derek levels a glare at him. “We’re supposed to be looking for the candy cane.”

Stiles sighs. “You’re no fun. Wanna go see Santa?”

“We just left,” Derek says and that, that is precious.

Stiles grins. Possibly it comes off _just_ a little evil, but what can you do when you’re born like that? “Let’s go see Santa.”

It’s a Saturday so Stiles doesn’t actually make Derek get into line or anything – it’d take hours, seriously – but he takes him over to the giant, ever-so-slightly cheesy “Santa’s Village” and lets him see.

Derek frowns. “What are they doing?”

Stiles shrugs. “The kids sit on his lap, get a picture, and tell him what they want for Christmas. Sometimes they know he’s not the real Santa before… you know.” _They stop believing in Santa,_ seems cruel to say. To an elf. Who works for Santa. And lives for Christmas. “Parents, I think, they usually tell them that they’re Santa’s helpers, because he’s too busy this time of year.”

Derek seems to need a moment. World views readjusting and all that. Stiles smacks him on the shoulder a couple times – in a manly way, not a violent way – and wanders over to check out the Christmas tree. It’s huge, of course, a few dozen fake presents underneath shining bright in the mall lights. There’s a glass star on top that makes Stiles wince and look away, leaning against one of the pillars a few feet away.

Derek, meanwhile, gets hit on by three separate soccer moms in the ten feet it takes to get to Stiles.

It’s kind of fun to watch, honestly.

“You found it?” Derek says as soon as he’s close enough to hear and what?

“What?”

Derek points up.

Slowly, Stiles tilts his head back. A good, oh, twenty feet or so above his head, is a giant candy cane hanging from the ceiling.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

 

 

He’s in a cupboard.

Okay, technically, it’s a wardrobe, but whatever. A clothing cupboard is still a cupboard. His legs fell asleep half an hour ago and his ass is numb and it’s stuffy as _hell_ in here and he’s in a fucking cupboard.

ChristmasTown owes him big. ChristmasTown owes him so big. He signed up to save Christmas. He did not sign up to spend a freaking hour cramped up in the bottom of a cupboard. And why does Christmas always need to be saved? Why is Christmas so fragile that it needs to be saved in every special and movie and everything? Halloween never needs to be saved. Well, unless Jack gets antsy, but that only happens every couple hundred years and really, that just means that he needs a vacation.

And for that matter, how come he had to cram himself into the cupboard and Derek got to hide under one of the display beds? Well. Okay. So maybe Derek was… a little bit broader than Stiles. In the shoulder areas. And the arms. And… but they were the same height, he could have shoved himself in here.

And never moved again, considering Stiles barely has any wiggle room. Stiles sighs. He hates it when he rationalizes himself out of his own rants.

He also really has to pee.

“I really need to pee,” he says when Derek opens the cupboard door.

“Thank you for sharing that,” Derek says and rolls his eyes. “Let’s go.”

“Seriously, you drank like twenty ounces of coffee. Are you like a Christmas camel or something?”

“Can we just go before someone finds us?”

“I’m not really sure I can,” Stiles admits.

Stiles has never heard somebody sigh like that. He didn’t know you could _sigh_ sarcastically. That’s good to know for future reference.

“So how exactly are we supposed to… get it?” he asks a few moments later, staring up at the ceiling.

Derek braces a hand on the pillar Stiles had been leaning against earlier and pushes against it, testing. “I think I could climb this…”

Stiles looks at Derek, looks at the pillar, and sighs. “No, it has to be me. I broke Christmas, it has to be me.”

Derek shakes his head. “No, I should–”

“Plus, you know, I can’t catch you if you fall,” Stiles interrupts. “And I can just fall apart if I fall off the roof. You’d splat, I’m imagining, and then we’d have to explain that to some poor janitor.” He rolls his shoulders. “Okay. Keep an ear open for people or we’re going to have some ‘splaining to do. Uh, and don’t freak out, okay?

He shudders once and lets the human skin and flesh melt off his bones until he’s just clothes and bones again. It’s probably a better idea to be slightly less… fleshy… when he does this. He’s more indestructible in this form, too. Jack claims during The Christmas Incident, he got blasted with shells by the military and his sleigh exploded, but Stiles doesn’t know how much he believes that. His grandfather is kind of… dramatic, at times.

“I’ll give you a boost,” Derek says and huh. Stiles used to play human in ChristmasTown when he was a kid, back when he honestly believed that his real face just scared the elves. Scaring people is fun, but there’s… it’s not meant to be _cruel_. People _want_ to be scared on Halloween. They don’t expect it on Christmas. Some of the elves, though, it’s not that he scares them. It’s that they don’t want him to touch them, when he’s a skeleton, or be near them.

Stiles stopped playing human when he realized that. He wears his real face always there now.

“Okay,” he manages.

Derek is stronger than he expected. Stiles is probably lighter like this, though, too, what with the no flesh thing, because he ends up with his feet braced briefly on Derek’s shoulders and, wow, six extra feet is high off the ground already, whooboy. Okay, no more looking down. Looking down is a bad, bad idea.

“Easy,” Derek says, his fingers going tight on Stiles’ ankles.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Stiles mutters half to himself. “I’ve got this.”

It’s not _easy_. The human world has mostly human laws of physics and he actually has to _climb_ the thing. And it’s slippery and hard to hold onto, his fingers leaving dents in the pillar that he feels terrible about and somebody is going to have to spackle and paint to fix, but eventually he drags himself almost completely to the roof.

“If I drop it, can you catch it?” he says as quietly as he can with Derek still hearing him.

“Yeah,” Derek says after a moment. “Can you reach without…?”

“Probably not,” he says, laughs, more to himself. This is gonna suck. A drop this high at home wouldn’t phase him, but the human world is weird to begin with and his body doesn’t always play nice. He’s probably at least going to lose a few fingers.

He very deliberately does not look as he leans away from the pillar. His fingertips just barely brush the candy cane with the other hand embedded in the pillar.

Yeah, this is gonna suck.

He manages to knock the thing off, at least, before he falls. This would so not be worth it if he didn’t even manage to get the stupid candy cane.

He takes a breath on the way down and braces himself the best he can for the impact.

Derek catches him. Ends up on his ass on the floor, with Stiles kind of on top of him, but _catches him_.

“What the fuck, dude?”

Derek blinks at him, his eyes way, way too close and what colour were they even supposed to be? “You said you couldn’t catch me if I fell."

“What?”

“I could catch you. I caught you.” Derek pushes him away. “Get off me. Your ass is bony as holly balls,” he mutters. Then he _freezes_ mid-shove. “Oh, I’m – sorry, I’m sorry, that was–”

Stiles falls away from Derek, almost crying with how hard he’s fighting not to burst out laughing. “Oh my god, dude, your _face_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When [a certain somebody](http://ellemarchpane.tumblr.com/) read this, a certain somebody put the top right image from [this post](http://barlowstreet.tumblr.com/post/70024311641/obrozey-stiles-stilinski-and-his-loss-of-sanity) in the document right after "Let's go see Santa". I feel this is an entirely accurate image to use there.


	3. Christmas Tree

Derek is asleep. It’s early, barely six in the morning, and normally the only way Stiles would be awake at this time would be if he was still awake from the night before, but he’s restless so he’s been driving for almost an hour. Derek fell asleep ten minutes in, head resting against a bunched up sweater pressed up against the window. It’s early enough that he doesn’t have the knit hat on yet, and the tip of one pointed ear peeks out from over his jacket collar.

He’s one of the grumpiest elves Stiles has ever met. Elves don’t usually like him, honestly. Between the Skellington thing and his general… Stilesness, they’re not real fond of him. And elves, especially Santa’s elves, have this whole general thing going on where they’re, to a one, cheerful. Jolly, you could say. Overwhelmingly _nice_. It’s occasionally kind of creepy, honestly, and not in the fun way.

Derek isn’t nice to him. He bitches at Stiles’ fast food choices – apparently Derek’s not a fan of spicy things; the jalapeños on Stiles’ burger kept making him sneeze – bitches at Stiles’ music choices because there are never enough Christmas carols for him, bitches about Stiles’ driving which is something special coming from someone who’s never driven a day in his life, bitches about – well, he’s just _bitchy_ in general.

He’s also really fucking pretty. Cheekbones that could cut glass. A jaw with a curve that makes Stiles kind of want to suck on it. Eyes that are honestly some of the prettiest colours that Stiles has ever seen, blues and greens and browns. A mouth that’s soft and surprisingly full in sleep. And those fucking _ears_ , which is a kink Stiles never thought he’d have.

Stiles has not been this conflicted about his morning jerk-off session in the shower since the first time he accidentally pictured Lydia Martin naked when he was thirteen.

Bitchy (and he means that in the best possible way in regards to Lydia – she’s head bitch in charge if he ever did see one), a little mean and impossibly pretty. Nothing for nothing, it’s nice to know that Stiles has a definite type. Stiles sighs, running his fingers through his hair. And this little… _thing_ … he’s having is probably going to go exactly the same way as his legendary Lydia infatuation. Worse, even, probably. Lydia, after she very firmly told him in no way were they ever happening, is a good friend. Probably a better friend than they would have ever have been anything else, Stiles admits when he’s honest with himself. And he _likes_ being her friend.

There’s no way in hell him and Derek are ever going to be friends. Not when it’s obvious Derek is only here because Santa told him to tag along with Stiles.

Stiles sighs again. This road trip thing was a lot more fun in the movies.

He lets Derek sleep til a bit after eight, until his stomach starts to growl too loudly to ignore.

“I need coffee. And food, food would be good,” he adds, trying not to watch Derek stretch out of the corner of his eye. “I can find a real actual restaurant if you want. S’ppose you haven’t really had a lot of human food, huh?”

“Simpler stuff,” Derek says, still stretching. “More like what your grandmother gave us. Not really burgers and stuff.”

His back arches in a way that probably shouldn’t be popular and Stiles tries not to whimper. Seriously, that’s not even _fair_.

“What about Halloween Town?” Derek asks, settling back into his seat. He pops his neck and that – that shouldn’t be attractive.

“Nah, not so much with the human food. We used to, uh, we used to have it brought in for my mom,” Stiles says, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “She couldn’t do any of our food. I can do whatever. Hate frog’s breath with a passion, though. Way too overpowering.”

Derek settles back into the passenger seat, flicking a glance at Stiles. “Your mom was human.”

“Yeah. She got sick when I was a kid…”

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles nods and thanks Samhain when the lights of a small town show up on the horizon.

 

 

“This is a very, very strange place,” Derek says quietly. Very, very, very quietly.

Stiles… Stiles is going to have to agree with that. He’s pretty sure that the vast majority of the people in this restaurant are bikers and truckers. He’s pretty sure this is not a place one should normally take an elf. Although Derek almost looks like he fits in if not for the little beanie covering up his freaking adorable little pointed ears and holy _God_ , Stiles is starting to sound like his grandmother.

The thing is – the thing is, the place is _covered_ in Christmas decorations. Stiles is pretty sure that Christmas Town doesn’t actually have this many decorations. He’s honestly more than a small amount afraid of the sheer amount of glitter in this place.

“I’m a little unnerved and I honestly don’t know whether I enjoy it or not,” Stiles admits. “This is creepy. And I can’t tell if it’s the good creepy or the we’re going to be murdered and served for lunch creepy.”

It’s not his best line, but the corner of Derek’s mouth turns up.

A moment later, their waitress stops at their table again. “Ready to order, boys?”

Her snow white hair is tucked up under a sparkly pink Santa Hat, she’s wearing one of the ugliest Christmas sweaters Stiles has ever seen – he makes a note to find one just like it to give to Derek – and she smells like gingerbread. Stiles is ever so slightly afraid of her.

Derek frowns at the menu. “Um… scrambled eggs and bacon, and an order of pancakes, if that’s alright?”

“You got it, sweetie,” she says, making Derek’s cheeks go pink and, yeah, okay, Stiles will admit that’s kind of adorable, too. “And for you, dear?”

Stiles grins at the menu. “I will have your blueberry pancakes, a side of sausage and a side of bacon, ooh, hashbrowns, yes, lots of those, three – no, four – sunny side up eggs and a plate of eggnog waffles.”

“Sure thing… you got a hollow leg to fill, there?” she asks, smiling in a way that looks a touch uncomfortable.

Stiles snorts. “Something like that.”

 

 

Stiles gets half of one of the waffles, but ends up eating three out of four of Derek’s pancakes. Apparently the eggnog waffles were a good choice. Stiles had a feeling. All in all, it’s good food and free refills on coffee, but the elf figurine staring at him from across the restaurant is creeping him out.

“So what’s today’s thing?” Stiles asks, working on his fourth cup. He has a feeling he’s going to be cut off soon. People tend to have some sort of sixth Stiles sense when it comes to coffee.

“Um…” Derek ducks his head, checking the scroll under the table. “A… Christmas tree?”

“Well, this is the place for it,” Stiles says and it’s a joke until it isn’t. The creepy elf figurine glares at him, hugging a tiny spinning Christmas tree. “Now they’re just fucking with us.”

“We can’t steal from some nice old lady.” Derek looks positively traumatized at the thought. “That’s not right.”

Stiles sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “I guess we could offer to buy it? Do you think she’d take us up on it?”

“Why would she?”

“Yeah. Okay. I’m just gonna… wander over there. Here, you distract her. Pay the bill. Leave a really, really good tip. To make up for us stealing a Christmas tree from a nice old lady, oh my God.”

“This is not the Christmas spirit,” Derek mutters.

Stiles really, really has to fight the urge to mock him. “Yeah, alright. Just go do a distraction, okay?”

It’s not that Stiles _likes_ stealing things. He really doesn’t. The mistletoe wasn’t a big deal. He’s pretty sure Heather wouldn’t care about a random piece of mistletoe. She’d probably have let him take it if he’d explained it. Or even not explained it. She’s used to him being a little weird. Or a lot weird. Even the candy cane didn’t seem bad. It was one cheap plastic mall decoration to save _Christmas_. And he threw a bunch of change into the fountain as they left. That surely made up for it.

But skulking over to the mantle staring at the little tree he’s going to steal? That feels scummy. That feels like something that would disappoint his dad.

“Now you wouldn’t be thinking about taking something there, would you, sweetie pie?” a voice asks in his ear and Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin.

And there’s Derek, earlobe pinched between the fingers of their waitress, guilt written across his face.

“No,” Stiles blurts. “Of course not. Ma’am,” he adds for good measure.

“Uh-huh.” She raises an eyebrow. “So do you want to tell me exactly why you’re trying to nab one of my Christmas trinkets? Was this your idea of a joke?”

“ _No_ ,” Derek says earnestly. “That’s not even funny.”

Stiles sighs, rubbing his hand over his forehead. “We just – we need… it’s a really long story.”

“Funny thing about that tree,” the woman says. “I know exactly where each and every one of the decorations in this restaurant came from. I’ve bought most of them myself. Except that one. That one just showed up one day.”

Stiles stares at the stupid little tree. Magic tacky Christmas ornaments. Of course.

“We really need it,” Derek says while Stiles is busy staring. “And I can’t explain it and I’m sorry. We could pay you for it?”

The woman – Shelly, her nametag says – grins. “No, I don’t think so. But I do have an idea of how you could earn it.”

 

 

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles stares down at himself. “Are. You. Kidding. Me.”

“I think you look quite fetching,” Shelly declares. “Now get out there and serve some tables.”

Saving Christmas. Charity. For the children… or something. Stiles had zoned out a little during the part of the speech where Shelly told them which charity specifically this was for. It was probably something nice. Shelly seemed like the type of woman who would choose a nice charity for her annual charity Christmas luncheon.

“I am only leaving this room because you make amazing pancakes and you scare me a little,” Stiles states firmly.

“As it should be,” Shelly says with a smile.

Stiles jingles when he moves. Probably has something to do with the bells on the elf hat he’s being forced to wear. To say nothing about the glittery garland woven through the belt loops of his pants, the blinking Christmas light necklaces around his neck, or the various Christmas novelty pins – also blinking – pinned hap hazardously to his clothing. Derek has a purple sequined Santa hat on, which is just big enough to cover the tips of his ears. Stiles isn’t going to lie. The hat helps things immensely.

“Smile, you might make some tips,” Shelly says.

“It’s a free buffet!” Stiles protests, but Shelly simply tuts and sends him out into the fray.

In the next two hours, three kids spill juice and syrup that Stiles has to clean up. Four separate people complain that he’s taking too long bringing coffee to their tables. A lady older than his grandmother pinches his ass, a table of teenagers snicker at him throughout their whole meal, and Derek gets thirty dollars worth of tips.

“Hey, elf boy.”

Stiles immediately has to stop himself from looking around for the actual elf hanging around here.

“Sorry,” the dude says when Stiles goes to his table. He grins and Stiles has to admit, the biker look is _working_ for him. “I couldn’t help myself. I like the hat.”

“Shelly’s making me wear it,” Stiles says tightly.

“I figured,” the dude says with a grin. “Do you want me to pretend to have questions about the menu so the other dude has to deal with the kids over there crying about their pancakes being cold?”

“ _Please_ ,” Stiles says vehemently. They were talking for _ten minutes_ before even touching their food. Of course it was going to be freaking cold. “I’ll pretend to tell you whatever you want.”

The dude laughs. “How about you tell me your name?”

“That I can do. It’s Stiles.”

“Stiles,” the guy repeats. “Nice to meet you. You new around here?”

Stiles shifts, resting the tray against his hip. “Nah, just passing through. Sort of a road trip. How about you?”

The guy leans on his arms on the table. Nice arms, too. “I travel a lot, but this is my home base. When are you done here?”

Stiles isn’t quite sure, but he’s pretty sure he’s being hit on here. Hey, it happens! Now and then. Usually with incredibly creepy people that his father and Jack don’t approve of even living in Halloween  Town and that says a lot about them. But it does happen. And, hey, this one is kind of hot. And leather-clad. And possibly tattooed.

“Stiles.” Out of freaking _nowhere_ , Derek drops a hand onto Stiles’ back. “Hey, you’re leaving me in the lurch here.”

Stiles sees the exact moment when the dude assumes. He gives a smile, suddenly cooler than he was a moment ago, and rises to his feet.

“I need to get going anyways,” the guy says. “Everything was great, though, tell Shelly that.”

Stiles sighs. “Gotcha.”

As soon as the guy leaves, Stiles turns on Derek. “You just cockblocked me!”

“What?”

Stiles shoves his fingers through his hair. “He was about to ask me out. Or in, I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure there was going to be sex going on until you made him think you were – were we – ugh, and I can’t even yell at you when you’re wearing that stupid hat. Ass.”

He stalks off to get yelled at by more ungrateful children, leaving Derek to deal on his own.

 

 

Stiles is dead. He is never, ever going to complain about waitstaff again. Ugh, feet hurt so much less when you don’t have muscles. Or skin.

“Well, I think you two have earned this.” Shelly sets the Christmas tree down on the table where Stiles is flopped across the booth. “I still don’t know why you want it, but I hope you boys learned your lesson about stealing.”

Stiles groans. This is only the third thing. He’s going to end up in _jail_ by Christmas at this rate.

“Yes, ma’am,” Derek says. “Do you think we could buy lunch before we leave?”

“Fooood,” Stiles moans.

“You’re pathetic,” Derek tells him. “What do you want for lunch?”

Stiles sighs and flops and arm out. “Here, give me a menu. I’ll pick you out something good.”


	4. Ornament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this being a bit late.
> 
> Also I realize that there's a fair amount in here that probably wouldn't really happen but I'm going to go with the explanation of "MAGIC" and ask you to suspend some disbelief for me on account of Christmas.

Even when he looks human, Stiles isn’t technically. Technically. Mostly. He has a human _form_ , because of his mother, but he’s not human. And it’s not that he has a problem with that. He likes the human parts of him. He likes that he can get all fleshy and have organs and stuff. It makes him feel close to his mom. She thought his eyes were pretty. But he’s just as proud of his other form. He likes the extra strength and durability he gets from it, and he likes feeling close to his dad and Jack. He’s more Skellington than in just name, you know?

So of course it takes him exactly one icy sidewalk outside of Starbucks to slip and wipe out. And it’s funny until he moves his wrist and the _agony_ immediately lets him know something is wrong in a major way.

Derek crouches down next to him, the grin that had been on his face a moment ago disappearing. “You just went really pale. Are you okay?”

“No,” Stiles says. His face feels tight, his eyes too hot, and for a second he thinks he’s just going to cry or something – until the skin over his knuckles goes tight and white. “No, _shit_ , I’m changing.” He grabs Derek’s jacket in his good hand. “I can’t let people see my face like that. It’s not – I can’t be _seen_.”

Seen is a dirty word to an elf. Derek gets it immediately.

“Okay, shh, it’s okay,” Derek says and wraps a hand around the back of Stiles’ head. “C’mere, I’ve got you.”

He pulls Stiles’ face into his shoulder and keeps his hand there. The other goes to Stiles’ elbow, carefully cupping his arm. Stiles breathes in the scent of leather and... peppermint, goddamn elves, his own fingers still locked in Derek’s jacket, and tries to pull himself back from the edge. He can’t change in public, no matter how much his body is trying to make him. He just, he needs to calm down so they can leave and he can turn and heal.

“You’re okay, it’s okay,” Derek mumbles, his hand gentle as he strokes Stiles’ head. “Nice, deep breaths for me, okay?”

It’s weird how calming Derek is. Stiles makes a note to ask about that later. He’s a curious dude, okay? It’s in his bones. Blame Jack. But the whole soothing voice and gentle hands are all working to pull Stiles back to himself.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” a voice blurts, loud and _really_ close and, okay, apparently snuggly touchy time is over. “I’m so sorry! Oh, God, do you need an ambulance? I think I need to call an ambulance.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles interrupts, pulling away from Derek. Sadly. “I’m fine, stop, I’m fine.”

“Oh my God, no, I can’t, I can’t let you just _leave_ , my boss would kill me. Please, please don’t sue us. We can’t afford to be sued and I would get fired so fast and I need this job, I really need this job. It’s almost Christmas and I have bills to pay and my credit card would _weep_ –”

“ _Hey_ ,” Derek cuts in. “We’re not gonna sue. I’ll take him to the hospital. It’s fine.”

“No,” the girl half-wails, fingers pressed against her mouth. “This is my fault. I was supposed to salt the sidewalk and then it got so busy and I can’t–”

Derek sighs and cuts her off again. “We’ll come inside. You can call an ambulance if you really think you need to.”

What.

 

 

“You’re a sucker for a crying girl,” Stiles says flatly.

Derek sighs. “I have four sisters. Your wrist is swelling up.”

“Yeah.” Stiles tries not to move it. Derek already had to take the phone away from the half-hysterical barista so that the 911 phone call wouldn’t make it sound like Stiles was dying. Poor kid's still shooting him furtive glances like she wants to apologize some more. He really hope she doesn't end up in trouble. “It’s going to. Sometimes being humanish sucks.”

Derek leans forward. “Hey, you’re not gonna get into trouble or anything, right?”

Stiles shakes his head. “I have enough of a human record. ID and stuff. I exist and all,” he says with a quirk of his lips. “It’ll be fine.”

 

 

“Kid, you wanna give me your real ID?” the paramedic asks.

And again.

_What._

“That is my real ID,” Stiles says blankly. And it actually is, too. According to the human government, Stiles was a homebirth. Homeschooled, too – and his mother did until he was thirteen and then – and then, after, he finished it himself. For her. Did the exams and has an honest to God diploma. But the point is, he exists. This is not a problem he should be having.

“Okay, look. I’ll give this back if you tell me your real age.”

“Twenty,” Stiles says firmly because it’s _true_ and he hates it when people don’t believe him on that. Which has happened before, but never to this extent.

The paramedic raises an eyebrow at Derek. “You the boyfriend? Parents don’t approve?”

“No, of course not,” Derek says, his voice level. “He’s my wife’s little brother. He’s just embarrassed that he got caught. Do you think I could get that to show his parents? I’m sure they’d want to know about this.”

The guy gives him a long look, then reluctantly hands over the card. Thank God. “And how old are you really, kid?”

Twenty by the way they count in human years.

Stiles sighs. “Seventeen?”

“There we go,” the paramedic says.

 

 

“I feel so bad about this,” Stiles says. “But the paramedic wouldn’t believe I wasn’t a teenager. Baby face, I guess.”

The intake nurse sighs. “Yeah, would you believe that’s this isn’t the first time he’s done this? It’s not that busy today so if you’re comfortable with it, we can get that wrist set before there’s any nerve damage.”

“Oh.” Stiles blinks. “Are you sure?”

“It is technically our mistake.” The nurse smiles brightly at him. “Just fill out these forms and I’ll call you shortly.”

Stiles slumps into a chair next to Derek a moment later, balancing the clipboard on his knee. “They don’t believe me, do they? They’re just humouring me until they can call my parents and rat me out, aren’t they?”

“Probably. Is it going to be a problem?”

“Probably.” Stiles sighs. “No. They can call my grandmother. Technically I _am_ twenty.”

Which is how he ends up in an exam room covered in daisies. It’s a cute room, really. Stiles imagines he would have liked it if he was a small, terrified child who’d been traumatically injured. Not that Stiles had ever had a serious injury as a child that he hadn’t been able to just snap back into place and heal.

“Healing is exhausting,” he decides an hour and change later. He now has a very festive red cast on his arm and some nifty painkillers coursing through his veins.

“It is indeed!” the nurse checking his chart chirps. “Which is why you’ll need to eat good healthy meals, get plenty of sleep and drink some extra milk until your arm heals up. Now, we can let you nap here for a couple hours until we need the room, but only if you promise not to sue us because one of our EMTs needs to retake the sensitivity training course.”

Stiles gives a groggy snort. “Promise. Can I get a lollipop because I didn’t cry?”

“When you leave, I’ll see what I can do.”

“’Kay.”

Stiles is feeling pleasantly weightless by the time he feels the hand on his head. Derek cautiously strokes his hair, his hand warm and gentle against Stiles’ skin.

“I know it’s decorated to be cheerful, but it still feels sad,” he mumbles.

“Sick kids. Sick babies,” Stiles says on a sigh. “Can’t be anything but sad. Imma sleep now, ’kay?” He pats vaguely at Derek’s hands. “’Kay.”

 

 

Stiles wakes up alone. Which usually wouldn’t be abnormal seeing as he lives alone besides for his Venus fly trap. Except he’s been sleeping in the same room as Derek for the last three days. And he kind of expected Derek to still be here. And, to be honest, the giant Technicolor flowers are a little creepy in the harsh light on the sober and unmedicated.

He grabs the first nurse he sees. “Hey, have you seen my friend? About six-foot, grumpy face, leather jacket?”

“The one that looks like a male model?”

Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes, but barely. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“Upstairs.” She smiles. “Take the elevator to the second floor and look for the Christmas tree. You can’t miss it.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. That’s not exactly a lot to go on. But nurses are goddesses as far as he’s concerned, so he gets in the elevator.

And she was right. He couldn’t have missed the Christmas tree. It’s gigantic, probably at least eight or ten feet tall, and absolutely covered in glitter-crusted, obviously kid-made ornaments. It’s beautiful and Stiles kind of wants to cry a little when he sees it.

“The Grinch hated Christmas,” Derek’s voice says from the other side of the tree. “The whole Christmas season. Now, please don’t ask why.”

“Why?” several voices ask back.

Stiles peeks around the Christmas tree. Derek sits cross-legged in front of it, his shoes off and set neatly next to him, with – goddamn it – tiny candy canes on his socks and probably a dozen small children sitting in front of him wearing mostly various forms of pajamas.

“No one quite knows the reason,” Derek says smoothly. “It could be that his head wasn’t screwed on quite right. It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.”

Stiles smiles, just a little, and walks around the group, sitting down to a little boy in Iron Man pajamas. Stiles likes his choices in sleepwear. A moment later, Derek glances up and meets his eyes and the back of his neck turns red. Stiles pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, resting his chin on them. Then he waits, watching Derek. He doesn't need to be embarrassed. Stiles isn't gonna make fun of him, not for this.

“But I think,” Derek continues after a long moment, “that the most likely reason of all may have been that his heart was two sizes too small.”

Turns out stories told by Christmas elves are pretty freaking magical.

Afterwards, while parents and nurses and caregivers round up the kids. Stiles climbs to his feet and walks over to where Derek is lacing his sneakers back up. There’s glitter in his eyebrows and he has a pink beaded bracelet tied around his wrist.

“That was a nice thing you did,” Stiles says, and for once he’s not being sarcastic.

Derek nods. “I just… I wanted to do something to make them feel better.”

“Um, Mister Derek?” a voice says behind Stiles.

He jolts out of the way, surprised by how quietly the kid snuck up behind him. She looks like she’s maybe four or five, wearing a pink Santa hat with wisps of blonde hair peeking out, and her face is puffy and round in a way that makes Stiles’ heart hurt because it’s so familiar.

“Yes?” Derek says earnestly. It’s probably a good thing they’re in a hospital. The things Stiles’ heart is doing can’t be healthy.

She glances at the floor and then holds out a felt mouse with a candy cane tail. “This is for you. It matches your socks.”

Derek takes it incredibly carefully. “Thank you _so_ much. It’s beautiful. I love it.”

She grins, bright and sweet. “Good. Thank you for the story. I have to go take a nap now.”

Derek nods. “Sleep well. Merry Christmas.”

Stiles waits until the girl leaves to nod at the mouse. “It’s the thing, isn’t it? Today’s thing?”

“Yeah," Derek says, staring down at it.

“You didn’t know that was going to happen, did you?”

Derek shakes his head, rubbing his thumb against the green felt. “I just… I wanted to do something nice.”

“It was a nice thing,” Stiles says firmly.


	5. Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is not as silly as the others have been and I feel like I should apologize for any feels I might make you feel!

“I still don’t know where we’re supposed to find a star.” Stiles glares at the list for a second, feeling possibly the most hatred he’s ever felt in his life, all for red ink, before turning his gaze back to the road. “What the fuck are we – am I supposed to find some glowing chick and drag her back to the North Pole?”

“What?”

Stiles sighs. “It’s from a book. Which was made into a movie, actually. But the book was better. Even though the ending is really sad.” He clenches his fingers around the steering wheel, leaning forward to stare at the road. Not that he can really see it at this point. Everything really just looks white and blank and terrifying. “I think… I think I don’t want to drive much longer in this. It’s starting to get _dark_.”

It’s barely four in the afternoon.

“Your thing says that there isn’t another town for about thirty miles," Derek says, helpfully waving Stiles' phone in his face.

“Okay.” Stiles presses the brake, slowing his Jeep as they pass a semi. Every time that happens, the wind feels like it’s about to blow them off the highway and nearly wipes out his visibility. Why are there so many semis out during a goddamn blizzard? Shouldn't they be waiting it out at a truck stop flirting with cute waitresses or something? “Okay. I can do thirty miles. I’m so freaking glad Grandma got my winter tires put on. But I can do thirty miles.”

It takes almost an hour and by the end of it, the Jeep is barely inching forward. Stiles’ knuckles are white on the wheel, possibly a little too bony – look, he’s stressed and Mr. Pointy Ears can suck it up if he starts to look a little emaciated.

“Please God let there be room at the inn,” Stiles mutters. “Where exactly am I going?”

“Um… there’s a B&B. We could try that?”

“I’ll take anything,” Stiles says. Winter driving is bad enough. This is just ridiculous and Stiles really doesn’t want to be driving in it. They’ll find somewhere nice and quiet and warm to stay until the storm dies down some.

There’s no room at the inn. The inn literally has no fucking room in the middle of a blizzard. Stiles knows this story, okay, and his Jeep is no freaking donkey. And Stiles does not have childbearing hips so they will not be re-enacting that particular story, thank you. There damn well should be room at the inn. 

“I will admit there’s some serious irony here,” Stiles mumbles as they climb back into the Jeep. “Considering it’s Christmas and all.”

“They said to try that other place," Derek points out, again, so helpfully. "Danny’s?”

_Danny’s_ is a bar. A dive bar, honestly. Licence plates on the wall and neon lights and… garland? Garland on the bar. Stiles is one ugly elf away from flashbacks to Shelly's here.

At least the bartender is cute.

Stiles sighs and hops onto a barstool. “I don’t suppose you have rooms?”

The bartender smiles at him, dimples flickering in his skin. “I have rooms. I don’t have vacancies, but I have rooms.”

Stiles groans and drops his head on the bar. “I can’t drive in this anymore. I can’t. Can I bribe you to kick someone out? I have a couple of my grandmother’s pastries going stale in my car and… Derek could take his shirt off?”

“Hey,” Derek protests.

“Only if he gets good tips.” The bartender laughs. “Tell you what. I’ll give you a list of places around town that rent rooms. You can phone around and if nobody calls you back by tonight with a vacancy, you can crash in the break room overnight. The couches in there are decent and we’ll be open all night because of the storm anyways. I get the best business during blizzards.”

“Seriously, I will make him strip,” Stiles says gratefully.

“ _Hey_ ,” Derek protests again.

The bartender raises an eyebrow. “Does he dance, too?”

 

 

“So what do we do now?” Derek asks, playing with the napkin dispenser.

Stiles shrugs, stealing the last of the fries from his plate. “Wanna day drink? Seems to be what everyone else is doing.”

“I don’t drink,” Derek mumbles.

“ _Don’t_ drink or _haven’t_ drank?” Stiles asks, curiously. “’Cause if you just don’t want to, whatever, your choice, but if it’s just because Christmas Town is all wholesome and jolly… well, I’ll watch your back if you wanna try it.”

Derek stares at the table for a long moment before lifting his eyes to Stiles’. “You’ll have to order.”

 

 

Tipsy Derek is _fun_. He’s flushed red all along his cheeks and nose, and can’t quit grinning, occasionally giggling over absolutely nothing. Stiles kind of wants to keep him like this for the rest of forever. And also know if his ears are as red as his cheeks. Too bad he can't see them because of the stupid hat. Which he's also angry about because there's no way Derek should be able to wear that thing and not look like either a dork or a douchebag yet he  _does_ , and it hurts Stiles, it really does.

“I like your ears,” Stiles says impulsively. Maybe he’s not _entirely_ sober himself. “I think they’re really cute and I wish you didn’t have to hide them.”

Derek laughs. “I hate it, it makes them itchy, but you know. Can’t be seen. I think the way you change is neat.”

Stiles grins at him. “People usually think it’s creepy.”

“Well, yeah, it is, but creepy isn’t _bad_ ,” Derek says earnestly. “You’re supposed to be creepy. It’s your job and your heritage and stuff. It’s good.”

“That’s really nice,” Stiles says. “Really. I’m going to buy you another drink because you’re nice. Bartender!”

The cute bartender stops in front of him and sighs. “Seriously, you can just call me Danny.”

“Yeah, but it’s more fun to yell ‘bartender’,” Stiles says with a grin. “It’s all about the experience, man.” As soon as he leaves, Stiles shoves the drink at Derek. “There you go.”

“You flirt a lot,” Derek mumbles.

“It’s fun.” Stiles plays with his glass. “I just… it’s fun. It’s not serious. I don’t flirt with people who it would be serious with. Everybody I flirt with knows that it’s not serious. They’re not serious either.”

“Is that why you don’t flirt with me?”

Stiles glances at him. “Do you want me to flirt with you?” Stiles swallows, rubbing his fingers restlessly against his mouth. “Or would you just like me to kiss you, maybe?”

“You did,” Derek says, the back of his neck turning red. “The first night. You kissed me under the mistletoe. Was it just for the mistletoe?”

“There’s no mistletoe now,” Stiles says softly and leans towards him. He tips Derek’s face towards him and brings their mouths together. Derek’s lips are as soft as he remembers and when he inhales, surprised, his mouth tastes like the peppermint schnapps Stiles has been buying him.

Danny clears his throat a moment later and they break away. Derek’s skin somehow deepens even more.

“It’s only seven,” the bartender – Danny says. “Normally I’d be enjoying this as much as the next person, but people start bitching at me whenever anyone starts making out at the bar before nine.”

Seriously, Derek’s cheeks are a shade that makes Stiles actually a little concerned for him. “Sorry, sorry,” he rushes out. “We just… I guess we got–”

“Seriously, just go,” Danny says flatly. “Past the bathrooms, shove a chair up against the door because it doesn’t lock. Flip the sign on the door. If you’re loud, I’ll kick you out. And use one of the sheets in the closet or so help me God you will buy me a new couch.”

“Oh, yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” Stiles says with a grin. “May karma repay you by getting you laid at your earliest possible convenience.”

“Get out of here,” Danny says firmly.

Stiles manages to be patient until they’re out in the hallway. Then he shoves Derek back against the wall and pretty much attacks his mouth. He smells and tastes like goddamn candy canes and apparently Stiles really likes candy canes. _Really_ likes candy canes, he thinks a little wildly, framing Derek’s face with his hands. Derek’s stubble scrapes against his palms, and something in his stomach _flutters_. Oh, he is so screwed.

“Gonna get kicked out,” Derek mumbles when Stiles slides his mouth over to suck at the joint of Derek’s jaw.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Stiles pulls away and fumbles at the door to the break room. He flips the sign with clumsy fingers before yanking Derek into the room. Stiles turns around to shove a chair under the doorknob and when he faces back again, Derek is spreading a sheet over the couch. He grins and walks up behind Derek, running his hand up the long line of Derek’s back. “Just what are you doing?”

“Danny asked us to… to… sheet,” Derek manages.

“Yup,” Stiles says happily, and shoves Derek down onto the couch.

Derek makes a surprised noise when Stiles crawls on top of him and immediately attaches his mouth to the pulse point of Derek’s throat. He wants to touch everywhere, every part of Derek that’s been _right freaking there_ in his Jeep and in hotel rooms and _everywhere_.

“God, I’ve been wanting to touch you forever,” Stiles mumbles, sliding his hands down Derek’s chest and rucking his shirt up. He craves skin under his hands and the ache doesn’t ease until his palms are smoothing over Derek’s stomach. “I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t unless you wanted me to but you have the prettiest skin. Not in a Hannibal Lector way. In a... you want me to, right?" 

“Yeah,” Derek breathes. “Yeah, c’mere.”

Stiles lifts his head to kiss him… and freezes. What is he _doing_? “I’m scum,” he says thickly and starts to push himself away. “No, I’m sorry, this – this is wrong of me. You’re drunk and you haven’t been before and this is just – this isn’t okay.”

Derek frowns at him. “I’m not _drunk_ drunk.”

“How would you know?” Stiles asks miserably.

“Not really dizzy. Or sick.” Derek reaches up and cups Stiles’ face in his hands. “Could sing Jingle Bells backwards for you? Snow the through dashing,” he warbles, low and off-key.

Stiles swallows, lets himself be drawn in closer until his forehead presses against Derek’s. “How do you feel?”

“Warm and a little floaty,” Derek says, stroking a thumb along the curve of Stiles’ cheekbone. “Tingly? And I wanna touch you and you taste like apples.” Derek swallows, leaning up just a little until their mouths almost, almost touch, a breath away. “Can you – will you please kiss me again? I want you to, it’s okay, I promise it’s okay.”

Stiles hesitates. “…do the Jingle Bell thing some more.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Snow the through dashing, sleigh open horse one a on, go we hills the over, way the all laughing. Happy?”

Stiles bites back a snort and threads his fingers into Derek’s hair. “Okay. Yeah, okay. I just… I needed to be sure you were sure. But yeah.”

He nudges Derek’s head back, gently because he’s not exactly sure if Derek’s cool with that or not, and kisses him. Harder this time. Deeper. With purpose because hot damn does Stiles have purpose here. He has purpose and he has the hottest fucking creature, elf, human, monster, or whatever, just the hottest _anyone_ he’s ever met underneath him. Fuck if he’s not going to enjoy that to the full extent of the word.

Hence yanking off Derek’s shirt.

Derek falls back onto the couch and immediately reaches for the bottom of Stiles’. “You too. I wanna see you. Let me touch you.”

“I…” Stiles runs his fingers through his hair. “I have some marks. Because of the Skellington thing. And the human thing.”

Derek gives him the most unimpressed look Stiles has ever been graced with. “Have you seen my ears lately? I could not possibly care less if you looked human.” He frowns, and adds, “Although I like the fleshy parts of you a lot. But I wouldn’t care if you were a skeleton all the time either.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says honestly. “I just… I don’t look like an elf, either, you know,” he says, softly.

Derek sighs. “I don’t care. I just want to touch you.”

That – yeah, that works. Stiles nods and strips off his hoodie, tossing it to the side, then pulls his t-shirt over his head.

Derek slides a hand up his side, carefully pausing over the mark on his chest. “It doesn’t hurt, right?”

“Nah. It's been there since I was born.”

The mark here looks like bruises, softly grey and outlining the shape of his lower ribs, just below his left nipple. It’s not huge, but it’s grown as he has until it settled into this size when he hit his last growth spurt. His mom used to call it a birthmark. His grandmother used to let him put fake tattoos over it so he wouldn’t be asked weird questions at the pool during summer. Or have to swim with a T-shirt on and be made fun of for the rest of his summer because kids are dicks.

“That’s pretty neat, actually,” Derek says, gently tracing one of the lines with his thumb. “Like a little piece of both parts of you that’s always there.”

“You’re pretty nice when you’re drunk,” Stiles blurts and attacks his mouth again.

And the kissing, the kissing is really, really nice. Quite honestly Stiles really loves the kissing. He could kiss forever, probably. Forever until he shifts, restless, and accidentally rocks his hips up against Derek’s. And his brain short circuits because holy fucking god.

And Derek _moans_.

Stiles has to break away to just breathe for a moment. Just breathe, hard and ragged, pressed up against Derek’s dick where it’s hard as a fucking _rock_ in his jeans. “Holy crap, y-yeah? You – for you, too?”

Derek nods. His head tips back, giving Stiles a nice long view of his neck. Stiles obviously has to leave a hickey on his throat. Derek groans. “Yeah. I need – I want – Stiles, _God_.”

“I know.” Stiles presses a kiss against his collarbone and reaches between them. “I’ve got this.”

He fumbles open Derek’s fly with shaky fingers, grinning when he finally gets it open. Takes a moment just to brush his knuckles lightly over Derek’s cock through his underwear, to feel the heat of him, to hear the rough breath Derek lets out at the touch like he can’t help it. Stiles knows exactly how he feels. He doesn’t remember how long he’s been trembling, just knows that it makes it damn hard to get his own jeans undone.

And it’s the best thing ever when he manages to shove both their jeans and underwear down around their thighs and takes both their dicks in one hand.

Derek sighs, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. He swallows, hard and moves a hand vaguely between them. “Can help if you want…”

“Nah,” Stiles says easily, giving a slow pump of their dicks with his hands. “I’m good here. You just enjoy yourself.”

“Not a problem there,” Derek mutters.

Stiles takes a moment to lick his hand from palm to the tip of his middle finger, easing some of the friction when he returns his hand. The slide is much, much better, especially when Derek starts to leak and the precome eases the way even more. You know, besides that it almost makes Stiles have a heart attack.

“C’mere and kiss me some more,” Stiles murmurs, leaning back over Derek. The angle changes ever so slightly, changes how Derek’s cock rubs over his and he goes breathless.

Derek catches his face in both hands and kisses him so hard he forgets his name.

“M’not gonna last long,” Derek mumbles, only pulling back the bare minimum. His lips brush against Stiles’ with each word. “Thought about this too much. Been picturing it for so long.”

Stiles takes a moment to lick a strip up the side of Derek’s jaw, pauses to speak, low and husky, right in his ear. “Gonna come for me?” he asks, soft. “Are you almost there? You’re so hard and you’re leaking so good. I wanna see it, you know, you know that, right? I want to see you come all over yourself and all over me. I need to see that.”

Derek slides a hand up Stiles’ side and shudders underneath him. “Y-your mouth is a menace.”

Stiles grins. “Yeah, I can show you how much of one it is later if you’re up for it.”

Derek’s back arches and he comes over his stomach and Stiles’ hand. Stiles glances down to watch it for a second and – and he realizes where Derek’s hand stopped. On his birth mark, not covering it, exactly, but cupping it carefully, his thumb against one of the lines.

For some reason, that makes him come so hard he sees stars.

They’re both panting when Stiles flops forwards onto Derek’s chest. Everything is a sticky mess, sweat and come and spit all over the place, and it’s going to get really gross in a few minutes, but Stiles wants to indulge in a little post-coital snuggling, damnit.

Derek cups a hand over his neck and rubs the other down his back. “That was…”

“Mm,” Stiles agrees. Okay, so maybe his brain isn’t entirely back online yet, either.

Derek exhales against Stiles’ temple and sort of nuzzle into his hair. “Can we nap for a bit now?”

“Totally,” Stiles mumbles. It’s only eightish. They’ve got lots of time to sober up and find the star.

 

 

Stiles wakes up around eleven. His mouth feels like he’s been sucking on cotton balls, his head is starting to pound, and he’s stuck to Derek in a rather unpleasant way. He peels himself away, literally, wincing when the skin of his stomach pretty much _stays,_ and stumbles over to the sink. There’s water and he grabs a handful of napkins after washing his hands, uses them to clean first himself up and then gingerly wipes Derek’s stomach clean. Nobody ever said Stiles wasn't a gentleman.

Derek himself is out cold, only making a grumbling noise when the wet paper towel passes over his skin. Stiles finds a blanket in the closet and drops it over him, then pulls his shirt on and fixes his pants.

They didn’t find the star, and he doesn’t want Derek to wake up to that.

Not if he can help it.

 

 

“You know I hate you, right?”

Stiles puts on a faux pout. “Aw, Danny boy, why you gotta be so mean?”

“You look like you’ve been making out with sandpaper.”

Stiles touches his face and, yup, that’s stubble-burn going on there on his cheeks. And chin. And neck. And… wow, Derek really liked his neck. That’s going to be fun to deal with tomorrow.

Danny rolls his eyes. “You’re cut off, by the way. It’s storming too hard to deal with drunk people.”

Stiles glances around and, yeah, now that Danny mentions it, there aren’t a lot of drunk people for eleven at night in a bar. Actually, not that many people even seem to be _drinking_. There’s a group in the corner booth consisting partially of a girl reading with another sleeping girl’s head in her lap. “What’s up with that, anyways?”

Danny shrugs. “We don’t lose power and we have enough food to feed a small army for a week. Storms suck. If you’re going to be storm-stayed somewhere, why not have it be a place with great food and half-decent people? But everyone knows that if they get too drunk, I’ll make them stand outside until they sober up.” He grins at Stiles, those adorable dimples flashing. “You and your friend were riding that line earlier. Don’t test me. I will make you stand outside in the storm.”

Stiles winces. “Sorry. Can I buy a bottle of water and over tip to make it up?”

Danny laughs and slides a bottle of in front of him. “Sure. Hey, you know what you can do?”

Stiles perks up. “You need help with something?”

“…yeah, I don’t think so,” Danny says. “I’ve got Isaac in the kitchen and honestly you look like a walking disaster. No, my nephew is selling crap to fundraise for his school. You want to buy a kitschy mug, subscription to a magazine that you’ve never heard of before in your life, maybe a nice handmade lanyard?”

Stiles snorts. “Let me see what you’ve got.”

Maybe he can find Derek another hat to cover his ears. Maybe something with ear flaps. Or those strings that only the dorky kids actually tie. Pom-poms.

Danny sets a cardboard box down on the bar. “I’m gonna run and check on Isaac. Let me know if you find anything you like.”

He feels it the second he touches them, the tingle of magic.

A pair of navy blue mittens with a glow-in-the-dark star sewed onto the fingers.

He’s never been more confused in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, crud, I've gotta make a hyperlink. Okay, so Stiles' bruise thing is based off [this](http://barlowstreet.tumblr.com/post/62884609611/thescienceofjohnlock-bubblyambii-my-cousin%20). It isn't that exactly so feel free to use your imagination a little ;)
> 
> Oh, and I am adding a "drunk sex" tag, but I'm not sure the consent here is dubious? They're both just tipsy, really.


	6. Snowflake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this being late! I was busy all day Christmas shopping and prepping for my Storytime tomorrow and making Rice Krispie Treat reindeer. But, hey, it's up before midnight in my time zone so that counts!
> 
> FAIR WARNING, this one is not the happiest chapter!

“You found it?” Derek asks, his voice hoarse.

“Yup!” Stiles says cheerfully, brushing his teeth in the sink of the bar’s break room. He’s never been so grateful for toothpaste in his _life_. His mouth tastes like swamp ass. Why do hangovers suck so much worse in this form? “It’s in the car already. We should eat before we go. Get the special, whatever’s full of carbs and grease. It’ll help with the hangover. Trust me.”

Derek rubs his hands over his face. “Right. You really found it?”

Stiles goes still. He forces himself to spit and rinse, then packs his toothbrush away. It’s not until his bag is zipped up and ready to go that he turns to face Derek. “Why are you so surprised that I found the freaking star?”

“You don’t – you don’t care about any of this,” Derek mutters, staring at the floor. “You’ve made that very clear.”

Stiles swallows and picks up his back. “I’ll meet you in the restaurant,” he says coldly to keep from saying something he’ll regret.

“Stiles–”

“Forget it,” he says sharply. “I don’t care, anyways.”

 

 

A fucking snowflake.

Middle of fucking winter and it just fucking _blizzarded_ , but they need to find a snowflake.

“I don’t know even know where I’m going,” Stiles says and pulls into… some store or another in some town or another. He doesn’t even know at this point and he’s starting to not care. He's been driving for six straight days. His butt is reaching a permanent state of numbess. “And there’s absolutely no problem with finding a snowflake in the middle of winter. Totally reasonable.”

“You could at least pretend to take this seriously,” Derek mutters.

“Seriously?” Stiles repeats incredulously. “I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere with an elf I barely know looking for magic knickknacks. I _left_ last night, I got up and left when all I wanted to do was–” He breaks off, shaking his head as he takes the keys out of the engine. “I don’t know how much more seriously you want me to take this.”

Derek jerks his seatbelt off. “Don’t you _get_ it? Christmas could be ruined. Millions of kids could be disappointed because–”

“Because of me,” Stiles finishes for him. “Because I fucked up. Yeah, I _get_ that.” He tosses the keys at Derek. “I’m going for a walk. I can’t drive anymore right now. You can – you know, I don’t really care what you do.”

It might be overdramatic and immature, but damn does it feel good to storm off.

 

 

It starts to feel less good when he realizes that his phone is still in the car, his sneakers are not exactly practical footwear for traipsing around in winter when it's just snowed at least a foot, and he has no idea where he’s going. He has no idea where he _is_ , let alone where he’s going, because he hasn't looked at the GPS in the last couple hours because he was following his instincts. And look where that got him. Cold and alone and an elf has his car.

“Fucking fuck him with a fucking chainsaw,” Stiles mutters darkly and kicks a snowbank which, turns out, is much less satisfying than he thought it’d be.

“Are you okay?”

Stiles screams and he’s pretty sure he gets a little bony for a moment there before his mad flailing sends him stumbling backwards into a snowbank. He’s not exactly _proud_ of that little manoeuvre, but he seriously thought there was no one around. He hasn’t seen another person for a good half hour at _least_. This is how horror movies start. And usually Stiles isn't on this side of the scaring thing! 

“Don’t _do_ that!” he half-shouts.

The girl who’d spoken has her hands over her mouth, brown eyes wide. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I was just… you looked kind of upset and – oh my God, here, let me help you.”

He lets her help him to his feet, then brushes the snow off himself and tries to make his heart stop trying to explode. “It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m having a crappy day. It’s not your fault I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t expect anyone to be out here.”

“Yeah.” The girl rubs her hands together. “The, um, end of town is a bit back that way. My family’s farm is over there. I was looking for my cat. And I know, farm, cats, they’re usually kind of an outdoor deal, but she’s still a kitten and I hand-fed her when she was tiny because her mom rejected her and I just really don’t want to lose her.” She smiles, but it looks forced. “I’m sorry, I’m talking too much.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles says. “I get it. Want some help looking?”

“You’re not busy?”

“Not even close.” He falls into step beside her, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m Stiles, by the way.”

“Allison. Are you new around here?”

“Passing through.” He rubs the back of his neck and tries not to look too sheepish. “I kind of ditched my travel buddy for a bit. We had an issue.” He sighs. “A fight, really.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He makes a face. “You don’t even know me. Do you really want to hear me whine?”

Allison shrugs, tugging her hat down a little lower over her ears. “You’re helping me look for my cat and you barely know me.”

This is true.

He thinks for a moment, trying to let his thoughts settle a little before voicing them. “I… see, the thing is, the guy I’m travelling with? We’re not really friends. We kind of just met each other. Like a work trip. And he doesn’t think I’m taking it seriously. And I _am_.”

She gives him a sharp look. Stiles has to work to not squirm. He spends _way_ too much time with Lydia and she has trained him far too well. When Lydia gives you that kind of look, you tell her anything and everything that she wants to know, whether it’s how to convince Dr. Finklestein to let her take private lessons with him, or talking Stiles into getting absolutely wasted on belladonna wine and doing… questionable things, or getting permission to spend a year in the human world before she was even old enough.

“You have sex?”

“Last night,” he admits, feeling his cheeks go hot. “And that made things more confusing. I don’t even know if he… if he likes me or if he just wants to forget things ever happened or what.”

Allison glances at him. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles admits hopelessly.

“That’s probably part of the problem,” Allison says, nudging her elbows into his ribs. She smiles, dimples flashing in both cheeks, and for a moment, Stiles is reminded so acutely of Scott that his stomach hurts with it. As soon as he gets home, he's going to take Scott out wherever he wants to go just for being Scott. He's left before, and so has Scott, but man, he misses that kid when Allison dimples. “You maybe will want to figure that out.”

“Probably,” Stiles sighs. After a moment, he frowns and lifts a hand over his eyes to shade them. “What’s that building out there?”

“That’s the old barn. You don’t think… oh, _crap_.” Allison shakes her head and her eyes go wide. “We’re tearing it down as soon as the snow melts. It’s falling apart. Probably should be condemned, oh my God!”

“Don’t panic!” Stiles says, his voice possibly a touch too high. Possibly he’s not so good with girls crying. Lydia never really taught him that. When she cries, she either wants to be told that she’s still beautiful – beauty is power to her, and she hates feeling powerless – or she wants to set something on fire. There’s not a lot of in between with her. “We’ll go look, she won’t be there, it’ll all be cool.”

“I’m not panicking,” Allison says sharply. “It’ll be fine. Let’s just go look.”

It’s not fine. They find a tuft of fur on a piece of wood over a boarded window and Allison hitches in a sharp breath.

“Okay, I need to call my dad. And then… what, the fire department?” she says, more to herself than to Stiles. She has her phone in her hand already and is pulling off her gloves as she speaks. “They'll have safety gear and stuff, right?”

Stiles rolls his shoulders and nudges the boards with his toe. They’re loose, hanging on by a nail here and there and not much more. It wouldn’t take much to pull them off entirely. “Yeah. Just… I think I could squeeze in there.”

“Stiles, that barn is a hundred years old,” Allison says, her voice tight. “It’s falling apart. Literally!”

“No, it’s okay.” Stiles drops to his knees in the snow and carefully pulls the boards off until there’s a gap he can fit through. “It’ll only take a minute. And I’ll be careful, I promise.”

The first thing he realizes dropping through the window is that it’s _dark_. And dusty. And kind of smelly. And this might not be quite as easy as he said it’d be to Allison. He’s not amused by the universe today

“What’s your cat’s name?” he calls up to the open window.

“Dinah,” Allison answers. “Please be careful.”

Stiles walks carefully deeper into the barn. “Dinah,” he says, but not too loud. This feels like a place where he shouldn’t yell. Right along with avalanche zones and kitchens where soufflés are being baked. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Something creaks above him. He freezes, only daring to move when nothing actually happens. He’s _pretty_ sure he wouldn’t die if the barn came down on him, if Jack's stories are anything to go by, but he’s also pretty sure it would hurt like hell and he really doesn’t have to explain either _not_ dying or the whole skeleton thing. And the squashed cat would be a bit of a downer, too.

He finds her long, long moments later, barely visible underneath some sort of shelf or rubble.

“Hey, there,” he says softly. “Hey, what do you say we get out of here? Go see Allison?”

She doesn’t exactly _seem_ to trust him, but she lets him pick her up. He tucks her in close against his stomach, absently stroking her trembling back as he picks his way back to the window. Right up until she jerks and struggles and manages to jump right out of his arms, running in the opposite direction.

“Hey!” He follows her. “You know, we just went through this. Getting out of here, seeing Allison, remember? What are you–”

The crash where he was standing a moment ago cuts him off. He grabs the cat, ignoring the sharp prickles of her claws against his arms and bends around her as he drops to his knees. He’s not letting her get crushed _now_ , damn it.

A moment later, he hears his name being called and cautiously turns around.

“Stiles!” Allison’s voice shouts, closer this time.

“We’re okay,” he says, then again a little louder. “We’re fine! But, uh… part of the wall fell. I can’t get out that way.”

“Okay, _stay there_ ,” Allison orders. “I’m going to go get help.”

He waits until he can’t hear her before looking for another way out. He doesn’t trust this place not to fall down around their heads. And the cat is still shaking. There’s a hole in the wall that’s been roughly boarded over with just enough room for Dinah to fit through. He’s just lifting her up to it when the board is ripped off.

“Holy mother of–” he bites back curses and clutches the cat to his chest.

“If I grab you, do you think you’ll be able to climb out?” Derek asks and Stiles almost cries with relief.

“S’good to see you, man,” he says and passes the cat up. “Yeah, I think so.”

As soon as he’s back on solid ground, Allison hugs him, Dinah squashed between them. “You are the stupidest person I’ve ever met,” she says. “But thank you.” She pulls back to press a kiss onto Dinah’s head and then turns to a man that Stiles hadn’t seen before. “Dad, this is Stiles and…”

“Derek.”

“And Derek. Seeing as Stiles just saved Dinah, I think the least we can do is invite them for dinner.” She turns and beams at Derek. “And it would be lovely to get to know you better.”

Derek hesitates. “I…”

If possible, Allison beams even wider. “Oh, we really must insist,” she says, and taps her hat where it covers her ear. Derek’s eyes go wide.

Stiles laughs suddenly, adrenaline coursing through him and making him lightheaded. “I just got it. Dinah. Allison. Alice in Wonderland. Allison Wonderland. You should use that as your superhero name.”

Derek frowns at him. “Maybe we could use that dinner after all.”

 

 

Dinner is nice. He still can’t quite place it, but the more Stiles gets to know Allison, the more she kind of reminds Stiles of Scott. For some reason. Maybe it’s the dimples. Her father, Chris, is a little… terrifying… but he’s a good cook and Allison is probably one of the coolest people Stiles has ever met. Afterwards, he finds himself in a chair in front of the fireplace while Allison and Chris clean up, both declining offers of help.

“You’re a guest,” Allison says when he offers. “Don’t even worry about it.”

Dinah hops up into his lap and proceeds to make herself comfortable. He rubs his fingers through the fur on her neck, scratching under her collar and lightly touching the tag on it.

“My family has worked for Santa for hundreds of years.” Derek drops onto the couch across from him. “It’s an elite position to be a Santa’s elf. We’re supposed to be responsible. My mom, my sisters, they’re all in top positions. It’s a huge deal for my family. Christmas is our _lives_.”

Stiles gives him a smile that feels crooked on his face. “My grandfather is Jack Skellington,” he says quietly. “Do you think I don’t get the pressure? Do you think I want to go home and tell my dad and my grandpa that I ruined Christmas? That years of stories about how Jack almost destroyed Christmas didn’t sink in at all? Do you think I want to hear people talk about me like that?”

“Stiles–”

“Just because it’s not my holiday doesn’t mean I don’t understand how important it is.” He swallows, hard. “Christmas is the reason my grandparents _fell in love_. I wouldn’t exist without it.”

“My world would end if Christmas did,” Derek says, his voice low and hard. He won't look at Stiles. "It's all I know."

Stiles stands, stepping close to Derek. “I know.” He hands Derek the cat. “The snowflake’s on her collar. Allison said she doesn’t know where it came from. I’m going to go see if she needs any help cleaning up.”


	7. Snowman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH also, this chapter has Stiles kissing another character. If that's not your thing, feel free to skip it.

Allison makes them stay overnight, claiming that they haven’t had guests in years and that it’s simply too late for them to find somewhere else to stay. Stiles tries to argue, but she makes puppy dog eyes at him and he cracks almost immediately. So Stiles ends up sleeping on the top bunk over Derek. Or, at least, lying in the dark being as quiet as possible and pretending to be asleep. In the top bunk over Derek.

There’s a sigh from the lower bunk. “We should talk, Stiles.”

Apparently he’s not pretending convincingly enough.

“Look.” Stiles pauses, rearranging the blankets to buy himself a moment to think. “Look, I’m sorry if you don’t think I’m taking this seriously enough, but I honestly don’t know how to convince you I am.”

“Not about that.” Derek goes quiet for a moment. There are rustling noises from the bottom bunk that make Stiles wonder if he’s doing the same thing as Stiles had. “And I’m sorry I said that. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have agreed to go at all.”

“If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have been in Christmas Town decorating in the first place,” Stiles mutters. “The agreement is only one of us _needs_ to go. Grandpa loves Christmas. He’s never missed a year. Nobody ever made me, not when I was a kid, not now.”

“You act like you hate it.”

“You might have noticed that most of your fellow elves hate me?” Stiles says sharply.

Derek doesn’t say anything for a long, long minute. Then, “I don’t hate you.”

“Sure.” Stiles rubs his hands over his face. “Whatever.”

“I don’t. And I _didn’t_ mean – I meant we should… we need to talk about what happened.”

“Nope!” Stiles says quickly. “We really don’t. Avoidance works quite well for me, especially in awkward situations.”

“We’re not going to talk about it at all?”

“No,” Stiles says, firmly, turning onto his side to face the wall. “Far as I’m concerned, it never happened.”

 

 

“We should stop here,” Derek says suddenly.

Stiles nearly drops the gas nozzle. “What?”

“We just should.” Derek makes a face. “It feels right, okay?”

Stiles exhales. He’s been giving Derek the cold shoulder all day and he knows it’s not really fair. Derek, to his credit, has either been napping or pretending to nap for most of the drive. “Yeah. Okay. Honestly, I could use a break from driving. I’ve got a headache like you wouldn’t believe.”

He’s not – it’s not that Stiles is mad or anything. He’s really not. It’d be silly to be mad. Their.. orgasm… thing… was a mutual stupid idea. Stiles will take as much – if not more – responsibility as Derek. And besides, they’re both adults. Sex is a thing adults do sometimes. As long as everyone is consenting, it’s all good, right? Well, it kind of completely sucks and Stiles hurts a little and he hates this. But really, it's not a big deal. It’s just… _awkward_.

It’s just really awkward.

 

 

The B&B is small, kitschy. It’s also the third they’ve tried and the first to have an available room.

“I think she enjoyed taking my money a little too much,” Stiles says, flopping back onto the bed. The queen sized bed. That is the only bed in the room and he’s really trying not to think about that too much. “Like I understand that every sale counts in a small business but she really seemed _vicious_ about it.”

“She kind of did, yeah,” Derek agrees. “Uh. I can – I can sleep on the couch. If you want.”

Stiles makes a rude noise. “Dude, I touched your dick. I’m pretty sure I can handle sleeping next to you. If you’re really worried about your virtue, we could make a wall out of the six million pillows on this bed.” Stiles sighs, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. I’m not even trying to be an asshole.”

“I know,” Derek says. “But you’re being one anyways. I’m going for a walk.”

 

 

Stiles wanders downstairs eventually when it seems Derek won't be back for a while, bored out of his mind. He browses the shelves of books in the front room for a while, but very stridently ignores the bookcase of VHS tapes. He’s seen the Ring too many times to even think about touching those. He doesn’t need to die in seven days, thank you. Where do you even _find_ those these days?

“Would you like to borrow a tape?” a voice says behind him and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Nope!” Stiles says hastily, spinning around to face the blonde girl who took his money earlier. “No, thank you, but I’m really just fine.”

The girl grins, sharp and very white against the deep red of her lipstick. “Relax, I just buy them at garage sales to freak people out. We only have one working VCR and Boyd complains every time he has to hook it up. Do you need help with something?”

“No.” Stiles shrugs, running his fingers over the spines of the bookcase. “I’m just… I’m kind of bored. My road trip partner bailed on me for a while.”

The girl narrows her eyes. “Come with me."

“If I want to live?” Stiles mocks weakly.

 

 

The girl – Erica –  is apparently one of the owners of the B&B, Stiles finds out when he asks if he’s going to get her in trouble for being in the kitchen.

“Freaking Aiden was late again,” Erica grumbles. “He’s such a flake, but he’s my old boss’ kid and I had to give him a chance. I’m going to murder him. Thank God Kali could come in on her day off. She’s a lifesaver and I don’t say that lightly.”

Erica picks irritably at a muffin with short, serviceable fingernails. They’re unpainted, unlike her bright red mouth. She has black eyeliner winged out so sharply it makes Stiles think of weapons and a little acne peeking out from under her foundation. Stiles likes her hair, pulled back into a fuzzy, curl-filled braid with a headband just barely keeping the little halo of blonde tendrils from spilling all around her face.

She reminds him a little of Lydia, in a way that makes him want to shut up and do whatever she tells him to do.

“So where are you from and why are you taking up space in my kitchen instead of doing the tourist crap in our fair town?”

“Technically it’s my kitchen,” a deadpan voice says from the doorway.

Erica tips her head back to accept the kiss the guy busses across her forehead. Even with the awkward angle, Sties can see how her face lights up.

“You love me enough to let me share it,” she says, reaching up to catch his face and kiss him, brief but soft, before introducing them. “Stiles, this is Boyd. We live in sin.”

Boyd snorts. “I’m also her business partner and the chef. Who are you and why are you in my kitchen eating my food?”

Stiles guilty swallows the bite he’d just taken of the best bread he’s ever tasted in his life. “Uh. Stiles. I am. That’s me. My name.” He points at Erica. “She kidnapped me?”

“Gotcha. Don’t get arrested,” Boyd tells Erica. “You’ve already spent your bail budget for the month.”

Erica shamelessly pinches him on the ass when he walks by. He grins at her, easy, and it honestly makes him look like a teenager, like a high school quarterback flirting with a cheerleader. Then he washes his hands and turns serious while Erica and Stiles chat. Right about when the kneading starts is when Stiles loses his train of thought just a little. Because the kneading is – there are _muscles,_ okay? And those muscles are _nice_ to watch.

Erica sighs and kicks him. “Okay, enough staring. I’m the jealous type.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“What’s your story anyways?” Erica asks. “With the ‘road trip partner’?”

The amount of disdain in her finger quotes is honestly impressive.

“We, ah… we kind of work at joint companies. Like our bosses are sort of business partners,” Stiles says, rather brilliantly if he does say so himself. And why hadn’t they come up with a convincing lie _before_ this came up? “This is like a work trip. We’re not really friends or anything.”

“Or anything?” Erica asks, raising one eyebrow.

Stiles chokes and tries not to turn absolutely red. There is something seriously wrong with him that he keeps talking about this with women he's barely just met. And it is more than likely Lydia's doing. “I – well – I mean, there might have been some anything. Maybe. But it was a bad idea.”

Erica nods and kicks him again, but gently this time. “Well, you know what? One bad idea deserves another.”

“I’m almost certain that’s not how that saying goes,” Stiles says, but, honestly, he’s never been able to resist a beautiful, bossy girl.

If the way Erica grins is any indicator, she knows it, too.

 

 

Stiles is pretty sure the guy he’s pressed all up against is hot. Stiles is pretty sure the guy _was_ hot, when he was in the bar flirting with him, but Stiles is also a little tipsy. The guy _feels_ nice where he’s kind of wrapped around him, and Stiles distinctly remembers him having really nice eyes. Kind of greenish, but almost grey at times. Little rings of brown around the centers.

The guy pulls away from where Stiles has been sucking on his tongue and presses a kiss against his jaw. Stiles sighs and tips his head back, waiting for the scrape of stubble on his skin.

Nothing.

A cold feeling sinking into his stomach, Stiles nudges the guy back. No stubble. No stubble and _brown_ eyes.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Stiles realizes. “I really should not be doing this.”

The guy pulls back right away, takes his hands off Stiles and everything. “Okay.”

Stiles rubs his hands over his mouth. It’s swollen a little from the making out and hot and his eyes start to burn despite himself. “I just – really, really can’t have sex drunk and I’m so not in a good place and it’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me and – wait, what?”

The guy shakes his head. “I’m not into less than an enthusiastic yes. I’m not gonna push. Are you okay?”

Stiles exhales. “I think so?”

“How about I buy you a coffee and make sure you get where you’re going okay?”

Stiles hates how nice the guy is, honestly. He jokes and pays for the coffee despite Stiles’ protests and walks him back to the B&B. Doesn’t even try to kiss him again. He’s gorgeous and funny and basically perfect and Stiles doesn’t want to climb him like a tree even the slightest bit. It’s not even _fair_.

Sneaking into a B&B isn’t one of the easiest things to do, turns out. Thank God Stiles has pretty much sobered up or he’d probably wake half the other guests up and break most of the pretty knickknacks around the place. He’s more than half-expecting Derek to still be gone when he makes his way to their room, considering it’s almost eleven, but there he is, sitting on the side of the bed.

“Oh,” Stiles says stupidly. “Hi.”

Derek nods.

“Um. I brought you a cookie.” Stiles awkwardly holds out the snowman shaped gingerbread cookie. “And… we should probably talk.”

“You found it?”

“What?” Stiles stares at the cookie in his hand. “Seriously, no shit?”

Derek runs his hands through his hair. “A snowman. Today was a snowman. I spent all day trying to find that thing and you found it again.”

“I didn’t even realize I found it. I just… I wanted to get you something to say sorry.” Stiles sets the cookie down on the bedside table and drops onto the bed next to Derek. “I’m sorry. I’m an asshole but there’s no reason I shouldn’t actually try acting like an adult about this crap. We’re supposed to be working together. Not fucking things up like this.”

Derek is silent for a long moment, staring at his knees. Then, very quietly, he says, “I’m terrified. I’ve never left Christmas Town. I’ve lived there my entire life. My sister, Laura, she left for a few years to explore the human world. Went to Thanksgivingville a couple times, spent a couple months in Easter Town.”

Stiles blinks. “Really?” He went once with Scott. They both got creeped out and went home after two hours. Something about the giant rabbit…

Derek nods. “Says the place is creepy as hell, though. Like not creepy like you guys, not in a good way.”

“Your sister’s been to Halloween Town?” Stiles asks, surprised.

“Yeah. She liked it there a lot. Took my little sister Cora a few times when she got older. Cora’s been dating a witch on and off for a few years. Spends a lot of time there.”

“Wait, who?”

Derek blinks at him. “Uh, Lydia? Redhead, ridiculously smart, kind of scary ‘cause you’re never sure if she likes you or wants to set you on fire?”

“Lydia’s girlfriend is your sister?” Stiles shakes his head. “Lydia’s one of my best friends.”

Well, obviously he’s doomed. If Lydia knows… or, you know, is kind of in love with Derek’s sister, she’s going to make Stiles sit down the moment she can, drink her tea that’s worse than nightshade wine in making him giggly and talkative and slightly hungover the next day even though he’s not entirely sure what exactly she puts in that stuff, and he’s going to have to tell her _everything_. He’s honestly scared for his dignity.

“I’m not like my sisters,” Derek says. Apparently they’ve decided it’s wiser just to pretend they’re not weirdly connected like celebrities to Kevin Bacon. “I haven’t left. Before now. I’m not – I’m just not like them. I can’t let Christmas end like this.”

Stiles sighs. “Do you seriously not remember that my grandfather almost destroyed Christmas and Halloween in one fell swoop? Jack would seriously kill me if–”

“It’s not your fault,” Derek interrupts. “Okay? It isn’t. I’m just scared and I hate it and I don’t know how to handle it.”

Stiles sighs. “Okay. I think… I've got this theory. I think we’re supposed to do something nice. With each thing. Every time we have, we’ve found it. I gave a bunch of money to the charity in the mall when we got the candy cane. You made a bunch of sick kids feel better. The buffet. Allison’s cat. Me buying you an apology cookie. But also I think you just need to trust me. ’Cause I’m not just in this for shits and giggles. So you need to trust me here.”

When Derek doesn’t say anything for a long few minutes, Stiles sighs again and stands up to go to the bathroom.

Derek grabs his wrist. “You’re right. And… and we’re going to have to talk about… about what happened with us. When we’re both not stressed and under pressure and… a little drunk?”

“Tipsy,” Stiles allows. “A little. Not a lot.”

Derek nods. “But just so you know… I’m not mad at you. Or anything. And I’m sorry I took my shit out on you.”

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, honestly, most of the football player thing is because ever since I saw [this fanart](http://jebiwonkenobi.tumblr.com/post/63817251499/kyupons-okay-i-was-going-to-draw-some-srs-night), whenever Michael Sandero is mentioned on Welcome to Night Vale, I picture Boyd now.


	8. Reindeer

It’s early… or late, depending on how you look at it… but Stiles can’t sleep. Stiles has spent the last week sleeping in the same room as Derek. He’s seen Derek wake up with his hair smushed and messy and his stupid adorable ears pink with sleep, in a fucking _tank top_ and multiple pairs of fuzzy pajama pants with various decorations on them. Candy canes, Christmas trees, snowflakes. He's nearly gotten used to that, even. But he’s never tried to sleep with Derek’s back on the other half of a king-sized mattress. Derek’s back covered only by a tiny, teensy tank top that doesn’t leave _anything_ to the imagination. No, Stiles does not need to imagine any of the smooth, tanned skin that’s way too close, or the muscles, dear God, the muscles. Why does he even need so many muscles? He’s an elf. Elves are supposed to be dainty and tiny and, okay, Stiles has spent enough of his childhood in ChristmasTown to know that’s not always true.

It’s still not fair. Because he simultaneously wants to make fun of the little Santa Clauses all over Derek’s pajama pants and also lick his back and maybe bite that muscle between his neck and his shoulder that makes his tank top straps not actually lay flat against his skin which is just cruel and also kinda he wants to wake Derek up and maybe pull down those stupid pajama pants and rim him until he goes boneless.

So there’s that.

Derek makes a noise in his sleep and Stiles freezes, his heart bolting into his throat. He’s not doing anything wrong, he really isn’t. He’s just… thinking things that are just a little wrong. In a good way? Totally in a good way.

Apparently Derek’s still asleep, though, just making anxious little noises and… shaking.

Shit.

There goes Stiles’ boner.

He hesitates, staring at Derek’s back until Derek makes another of those sad broken little noises and curls up into himself.

And Stiles breaks. He sighs to himself and grabs the blankets Derek has kicked off. As much as Stiles was enjoying the view, blankets fix many, many things and it is a little cool in here. He tugs them up over Derek, his fingers brushing the back of Derek’s neck, and Derek goes still.

Okay.

Stiles exhales, softly, finishes arranging the blankets back in place, and settles down more comfortably to try and sleep again, hand pressed firm against the back of Derek’s neck.

 

 

“Sing, Derek!” Stiles says and, okay, maybe he’s enjoying this a little too much. “C’mon, you love Christmas music.”

“Not like _this_ ,” Derek says and Stiles dies laughing.

He thinks he might be just a little in love with Erica. First of all, she drives a VW bug that’s probably older than him and he respects anyone who likes weird old cars as the owner as a weird old Jeep. Second of all, she’s wearing black jeans and a sweater with skulls over it to go and pick out a Christmas tree. Boyd, however, is wearing a green shirt with little white Christmas trees covering it and quite honestly, Stiles is probably in a car with three of the only people in the worlds who could look completely fuckable and also a little intimidating in that kind of sweater.

But, no, Erica is Stiles’ true love. Because she’s blasting the weirdest, sometimes most _disturbing_ Christmas themed music Stiles has ever heard. And considering he spends every Christmas watching Jack still go giddy over the holiday, that’s saying something.

Erica reaches back without looking, accidentally – he thinks – smacking Stiles in the head and pats vaguely at Derek’s general direction. “Relax. No one sings in my car except me and Boyd if he wants to.”

“I don’t,” Boyd says. “Really, really don’t.”

“I know,”  Erica says easily, dropping her hand onto Boyd’s knee. “We’re good. ‘Cause you’re gonna buy me a tree. A great, big shiny aluminum Christmas tree. The biggest aluminum tree you can find, Vernon Boyd. Maybe paint it pink.”

“You’re not even a little bit funny,” Boyd tells her, deadpan, but his face is soft when he looks at her and Stiles may be just a tiny bit infected with the Christmas spirit because he’s ever so slightly mushy inside.

Within the first five minutes of arriving at the Christmas tree lot, Erica has convinced Boyd to buy her a cup of apple cider, a donut, and has some sort of sparkly bow that she stole woven into her hair. Stiles would be making fun of Boyd… if Derek wasn’t holding an identical cup of apple cider and donut. You just, you can’t take an elf to a Christmas tree lot and not buy them treats. Stiles dares you to try. It’s against the laws of physics. Simply not possible.

Not when his cheeks are turning pink from the cold and he’s bright-eyed and practically in awe of the people being… people. And honestly, Stiles is probably half an hour away from stealing a bow off something and sticking it in Derek’s hair.

Erica nudges Stiles a moment later. “Hey, I’m gonna go talk Boyd into making out with me behind a Christmas tree. Text me if you find a nice one?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles drawls, and only about fifty percent sarcastically. He knows better than to argue. Let it never be said Lydia did not train him well.

When they’re alone, Stiles checks on Derek to make sure he’s not too overwhelmed.

“I never thought about this stuff,” Derek admits quietly. “How – how it has to be for humans. We don’t have to do this. We always have them growing. Izzie grew one for a school project once.”

Stiles grins, rubbing his hands together for a moment before shoving them into his pockets. His circulation is crap. Apparently skeletons aren’t made for cold weather. “My mom was really into Christmas when I was tiny. I mean, obviously, she loved Halloween,” he says with a laugh. “But Mom and Jack… well, he still loves Christmas.”

“Really?”

Stiles snorts. “Don’t worry, my nana Sally would take him apart herself if he even thought about looking at it wrong. He’s just… enchanted by it. Still. It’s like magic to him. And it _was_ magic for my mom, ’cause she was human. They bonded. So we used to do the tree thing, give each other presents. We always stayed with Jack on Christmas Eve because it’s like… he just loves it.”

“We’re always working,” Derek says, frowning a little. “What did you do? On Christmas Eve, I mean.”

“Nightshade wine for the adults. Hot chocolate for my mom and me if I wanted it. And we’d wait for it to snow and eat until we were sick. Mom would try and teach Jack Christmas carols but he never quite got them right.” Stiles shrugs, dropping his gaze. “Just be together, really.”

“I get that,” Derek says, soft.

Stiles is getting positively sappy. Obviously this is the correct time to shove snow down the back of Derek’s coat.

 

 

So maybe they almost get kicked out. A little. Erica and Boyd get caught getting a little too into their semi-PDA and, really, it's more of a group shaming – erm, _warning_ than anything. And so Stiles will claim for the rest of his life.

“You’re a bad influence,” Boyd tells Erica. “You’re terrible.”

“Love you, too,” she replies, snuggling into his side as they walk.

“You really are terrible,” he repeats, but kisses her head and fixes the bow so it doesn’t fall out of her hair.

Derek catches Stiles’ arm and pulls him away a few steps. “Hey, are you okay?”

Stiles is freezing. He’s not built for this kind of weather and his _ears_ are going numb. He grins, though, because this has been fun and he doesn’t want to ruin this. “I’m good.”

“Really? Because you _look_ like you’re about to turn blue. Now, if you were getting cold, we could go stand by the handy warming lamp things,” Derek says, “But if you’re good…”

“Okay, okay, I’m freezing. Jeez, I can practically taste your sarcasm, dude. _Handy?_ ”

Derek rolls his eyes so hard Stiles worries they’ll roll right out of his damn head. “Yeah, yeah. C’mon.”

Stiles is fine being dragged over to the heat lamp thing, whatever the hell they’re actually called. He’s fine biting back moans of pleasure because _waaaaaarm_. He’s fine even when the feeling starts to come back into his ears and they sting like a bitch.

“You should really try a pair of gloves,” Derek says when Stiles starts to blow on his hands.

Stiles points a finger at him. “Don’t you start with me! That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”

“No, what got us into this mess is you being a little snot,” Derek says and Stiles is prepared to wince, prepared for it to be a barb… except Derek’s voice is light. Teasing? Derek doesn’t seem to notice his reaction. A second later, Derek grabs Stiles’ hands and presses them between his, and Stiles goes completely, totally still. “Your hands _are_ freezing, though. Maybe you should ask Santa for a pair of warmer gloves for Christmas.”

Stiles gives a shaky laugh. “Yeah, maybe.”

Derek stares at their hands, his eyebrows drawn together as he rubs Stiles’ fingers roughly between his. “Maybe I’ll ask Santa for you,” he says, softly, and brings Stiles’ fingers up to his mouth. Stiles’ _heart_ stops beating until Derek blows a hot breath on them and then it kicks into gear so quickly Stiles gets a little faint.

“Dad, can we get this one?”

Stiles jolts at the sudden voice that cuts through the hormonal fog his head is in. When he looks again after taking a minute to pull himself together, Derek is staring past Stiles’ shoulder.

“Uh…” another voice says, hesitating, and Stiles glances over his shoulder to see what Derek’s looking at. There’s a man standing next to a small boy. “I don’t think this is the kind we’re looking for, kiddo. Remember the ones I showed you?”

“But it’s _perfect_ , dad,” the kid says. “Those ones were all _little_.”

“We’ll find another perfect tree.”

Stiles shakes his head and turns back to Derek, who’s… still holding his hands. “Uh… dude?”

“There’s…” Derek swallows. “They were looking at the smaller trees earlier.”

Stiles glances back between the kid and dad and Derek and… oh. “Oh,” he says, hearing his voice go soft. “Oh, dude. You’re – sometimes people don’t have a lot of money. And trees like these, the big ones, they’re not cheap. And it sucks and it’s not fair, but that’s kind of how it happens.”

“But…” Derek shoves his fingers through his hair. “It’s not fair.”

“It’s really not,” Stiles agrees. “Especially not when kids are involved.” He swallows, mentally counting the credit card bill he’s been wracking up. It’s going to take him the entire summer to work enough to pay that thing off. “Let’s go find an employee.”

 

 

It’s a fifty dollar tree, but the kid screams when he sees it tied to their car and Derek has to slap a hand over Stiles’ mouth to keep him from cracking up and ruining the whole hiding thing they’ve got going on.

And, yeah, this was a good thing.

“Thank you,” Derek says, softly, right next to Stiles’ ear, and he shivers at the warmth of Derek’s breath.

Stiles pats vaguely at Derek’s side. “You got it, big guy. Uh, I think Erica and Boyd are done. Let’s go see what – yeah.”

“You’re a sap,” Erica says as soon as they meet up with them. “You both are giant saps.”

Boyd wraps his arms around her waist and drops his chin onto her head. “She means it was nice of you to pay for their tree.”

“That was you two?” the man ringing them up says. “Here, you should take one of these. Free gift with purchase of Christmas trees for a family that really needed one.”

“Thank you,” Derek says and he’s turning red.

Stiles takes the reindeer shaped air freshener from the man and sniffs it gingerly. It’s not bad, actually, smells like apples and cinnamon. He’ll tell Derek a little later what it is. For now, this is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a taste of the kind of Christmas songs Erica likes, try [this one](http://grooveshark.im/?artist=The-Knife&track=Reindeer) to start.
> 
> Oh, and Derek's sister? Her full name is Isadora.


	9. Christmas Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretending I'm in a different time zone and that I got this up before midnight.

Stiles has learned that Derek is not a graceful waker. Apparently he is not a morning elf. He wakes up slowly and grouchily and Stiles is a little afraid that he’s actually gotten Derek addicted to coffee because a Starbucks run cheers him up _immensely._ In a weird twist, considering his own usual nocturnal habits, Stiles has been awake for an hour. It’s kind of cold, though, because it’s early still, and he doesn’t really want to get up. He’s been reading for the last hour, all snuggled up under the blankets when Derek groans and buries his head under the pillow.

Not a morning elf at all.

“Good morning, starshine,” Stiles chirps, because he lives to be obnoxious. “The earth says hello!”

Derek groans again and pulls the blankets over his little pillow nest. “No.”

Stiles snorts and tosses the book onto the nightstand. He wiggles down under the covers, giving them another tug until they’re nice and high over both their heads, and slowly tips Derek’s pillow up. There’s just enough light under the blankets to see the pointed tips of one of Derek’s ears and one eye glaring balefully at him.

“It’s too early,” Derek mutters and honest to God, he’s the bitchiest elf Stiles has ever met.

Which is probably why Stiles can’t resist reaching over and gently flicking the tip of his ear. “It’s not, really. You just stayed up too late fooling around with Boyd. He’s probably suffering a lot more than you, actually, considering he had to work this morning.”

“Shh,” Derek mutters, closing his eye.

Stiles snorts and… and when did he forget to take his hand away from Derek’s ear? “Yeah, well… hey. It’s only like four more days until Christmas. Maybe we could stay here? Erica said last night that if we booked the room today, we could have it until Christmas.”

“’d be nice,” Derek slurs. “Festival. Parade.”

“Yeah, that could be fun,” Stiles says softly, rubbing the very tip of Derek’s ear gently between his fingers. The skin is softer than he’d expected, and warm. “It’s nice here. I like Erica and Boyd. It’s just… it’s nice here.”

“Mmhm,” Derek says. Stiles is pretty sure that he’s falling back asleep, but whatever. He can sleep a little longer.

Stiles, however, should probably stop stroking his ear.

 

 

Erica and Boyd’s town has an annual Christmas festival the weekend before Christmas. Apparently the only reason Stiles and Derek got the room they did was a last-minute cancellation and blatant favouritism. Stiles has some mild suspicion that there’s a little magical manipulation going on, but at least they’re not taking business away from Erica and Boyd, who have been incredibly nice to them. After the Christmas tree lot last night, Boyd and Derek got the tree set up. Erica claimed she was allergic to pine sap and Stiles was unanimously banned from helping. Then Erica demanded Stiles help her decorate and Derek disappeared with Boyd, not crawling into the room until the wee hours.

Speaking of, Derek is off to a slow start when he finally drags his elf ass out of bed and into the shower. He comes out wet and dripping in nothing but jeans and flops back onto the bed, faceplanting into his pillow.

“Now that’s just rude,” Stiles says. “Somebody’s gonna have to wash those sheets.”

“Why does morning _happen_?” Derek groans into the pillow.

Stiles tries really hard not to laugh. “Give me ten minutes to shower and we’ll get you some coffee. It’ll get better.”

“I hate you,” Derek mumbles. “I hate everything.”

“Definitely going to need coffee,” Stiles says and goes to take a shower.

 

 

They make it down in time for breakfast. The dining room is _jammed_. Stiles takes a moment to snicker at his own pun – breakfast? Jam? – before shoving his way into the rush. It takes long enough to find somewhere to sit that when he finally finds a sole seat, he sincerely considers forcing Derek to share with him. Somebody can sit on somebody’s lap. Who cares who?

A second seat opening up is honestly the only thing that stops him, and they end up squeezed into a corner with a table the size of a paperback.

“Good morning, sunshines,” Erica chirps as soon as she comes up to their table.

Derek drops his head onto the table and groans again. “Not you too.”

“What?” Erica asks.

Stiles pats Derek on the head. “Not a fan of mornings. Coffee? And could you bring extra cream and sugar? Like six of ’em? Sweet tooth.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I could just bring you out a carton of eggnog to spike it with.”

Derek sits up so fast Stiles nearly smacks himself in the face. “You’re allowed to do that?”

Stiles sighs. “I’m thinking that might be a yes.”

Somehow, he’s not surprised.

 

 

Stiles _really_ likes this festival thing. He likes the crowds, likes the sparkling decoration everywhere. They get drafted after they eat their breakfast. Erica, wild-haired and wild-eyed and quite honestly dazzling, offers them ten percent off their room and Derek ends up doing dishes while Stiles helps with the breakfast rush.

Possibly the best part is the food carts. Derek starts to worry around dinnertime that they won’t find today’s thing – Stiles isn’t worried; it doesn’t feel urgent – so Stiles buys him… basically one of everything. He starts with baked potatoes, loaded up with everything, and sausages on a stick which make Stiles giggle because… well, phallic much? But they’re yummy as crap, same with the clam chowder he buys Derek which is apparently a new experience for Derek, and a cup of chilli for Stiles that he talks Derek into trying a bite of. Turns out Derek isn’t a fan of chilli, though, so Stiles lets him have the chowder and eats the chilli himself.

After that, Stiles forces a bowl of apple cobbler on him because _yes_. Apparently Derek, however, is getting “full”. Wimp. Stiles eats his own rice pudding and most of Derek’s cobbler and is honestly considering grabbing another baked potato and maybe another sausage when there are sudden sirens and Derek grabs his arm.

“Oh, dude, relax. It’s cool.” Stiles hastily swallows down the last bite of Derek’s cobbler which is still ridiculously delicious even getting a little cold and tosses the bowl into a garbage can. “It’s the start of the parade. C’mon, let’s go see if we can grab some candy.”

“Isn’t that for the kids?”

“Technically, yes,” Stiles says. “But I don’t get to go trick or treating anymore. So I think I deserve the occasional parade candy cane considering I help make it possible for the kiddies to overload themselves with candy on Halloween.”

“Sure,” Derek says with a grin. “You keep telling yourself that.”

It’s not Stiles’ first parade. He used to go between the human world and home a lot more when he was a kid. Mom wanted him to experience both equally. She wanted him to know where she came from, where _he_ came from, wanted him to be able to choose who he wanted to be.

But he’s pretty sure – he knows that it’s Derek’s first parade. And the awe on his face is sort of breathtaking.

Yeah, Stiles thinks. It was a good idea to stay.

 

After the parade is finishes, he pulls Derek into the archway of a building to stay out of the way of the crowd rushing… somewhere.

“You liked it?”

Derek nods. “It was beautiful.”

“Yeah.” Stiles is maybe a little food high. Maybe a little sugar high. He’s got a pocket stuffed full of candy canes and a few lollipops in Derek’s jacket pockets and by this point his feet are basically solid blocks of ice, but he’s more happy than he’s been in a week and he recklessly says, “You kinda are too, you know.”

Derek turns absolutely red.

Stiles swallows, rubbing his palms against his thighs, and leans forward.

“Excuse me?”

They both jump like they’ve been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Stiles takes a step back, blushing his fool head off. PDA isn’t usually his thing. But he forgot there were, you know, other people around for a moment there.

There’s a little girl standing in front of them, maybe six or seven, and Stiles is half convinced for a moment they’re going to have to deal with an angry parent for corrupting the local youth.

Then Derek is smiling down at her like the sucker he is. “Yeah?”

She looks around very carefully and takes a step closer. “Um. Could you do a favour for me?” She rummages in her pocket for a moment, finally pulling out a creased, well-worn envelope. Then she inches forward and holds it out to Derek. “Could you please give this to Santa?”

Derek’s eyes go wide, but he crouches down in front of her and takes the letter. “We’re – we’re not going to be back in time before Christmas. We have to stay here until Christmas Eve. If you want to tell him what you want for Christmas, it’ll get there if you mail it. They always do.”

She grins, suddenly, and there’s a tooth missing right in the front on the top. “Oh, no, Santa already knows what I want. I just want to send him this letter and it’s really important that he gets it.”

Derek nods. He tucks the letter into the inner pocket of his jacket and pats it. “I’ll make sure he gets it, then. He really does love your letters. He keeps them all.”

The girl’s eyes go wide. “All of them? That must be a _lot_.”

“Millions and millions,” Derek says softly. “And if you ask him, he knows every single one of your names.”

She laughs. “That’s so cool. Um. Is it…”

“Yes?” Derek prompts.

“Can I pretty please see your ears?” she blurts all in a rush. “Please?”

Derek grins, bright white and breath-taking. “Sure. But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

She nods.

Derek lifts the edge of his hat just enough that the pointed tip of one ear is visible. Stiles has spent his fair share of time in Christmas Town and he still thinks that Derek’s ears are one of the most adorable things he’s ever seen in his life. He’s not surprised when the girl giggles again.

He is surprised when she looks at him and frowns.

“What are you?” she asks. “You're not the same. But… what are you?”

Stiles glances around, but nobody seems to be looking at them. They’re pretty well blocked from sight, too. “Um. Do you promise not to be scared? You have to promise not to be scared.”

“I promise,” she says.

Stiles bends down and beckons her closer. “Derek, can you…” When Derek stands up and moves in close, blocking the view of Stiles from the people on the street, he looks at her again. “Don’t be scared, okay? I’m not being mean or anything. This is just… my other face. Okay?”

“Okay,” she repeats.

Stiles takes a breath, and lets his face fade to bone. He doesn’t do anything particularly scary, just lets his face be. After a moment of that, he pulls himself back together and smiles carefully at the girl.

“That was so cool,” she whispers.

Derek laughs quietly. “It is. You should probably get back to your mom or she’s going to start to worrying. I’ll make sure Santa gets your letter, I promise.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Merry Christmas!”

When she takes off, Derek comes over to lean against the wall next to Stiles.

“I’ve never had that happen before.” Derek bumps his shoulder into Stiles’, gently, then hands him the list. The words “Christmas Letter” are a deep, shining green. “This was your idea. You get the credit for the last few now.”

Stiles shrugs, letting his shoulder rub against Derek’s. “Nah. The last one was all you. Besides, this is more of a teamwork gig. It’s better when it’s a teamwork gig. We work good together.”

“Yeah.” Derek turns and catches Stiles’ by the shoulder. “Hey, you were – I want to – _jingle bells_ ,” he mutters suddenly, leans in, and kisses Stiles.

He pulls away almost as soon as he starts and Stiles has to stop him and kiss him again, slow and firm, for a long moment before letting him go.

“I want to,” Stiles says, licking his bottom lip. “I want to. But we shouldn’t – but not right now when it’s – we–”

“I know,” Derek says. “But I just… I wanted to do that really badly. But… in three days?”

Stiles laughs and nods. “Three days.”


	10. Bell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, also. 
> 
> Warning that might be a touch spoilery:
> 
>  
> 
> While I am entirely unfond of Salvation Army's politics, there's a scene involving them, and really it's just one guy being a jerk, I promise.

“I’m not wearing this.” Stiles glares at Erica. For probably the first time in his life, he’s sorely tempted to flash his face at someone just to be mean. He’s pretty sure people would understand if they saw _it_ though. This type of horror should be labelled a threat. “I’m not and you can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey, yes. Yes, I can,” Erica says and damn it, he can’t even begin to deny that.

He tries another tactic. “I’m allergic to wool.”

Erica raises one eyebrow. One perfectly shaped eyebrow that lifts over the rim of her black-framed glasses and it’s like she _knows_ his weaknesses. “This is the fakest acrylic to ever fake. Don’t even kid yourself.”

Oh, God, he’s getting desperate now. “Why aren’t you making Boyd wear one?”

Boyd raises an eyebrow and _people need to stop that_. Stiles is going to embarrass himself here. “The hell do you think this is, then?”

A grey sweater. A dark grey sweater with some sort of pattern that could be considered vaguely resembling snowflakes or something Nordic. Maybe. In any case, it fits him close, not unlike the several sizes too large monstrosity Erica is trying to make him wear, and it’s _subtle._ There's a  _door_ on the freaking thing. That actually opens.

Stiles widens his eyes at Erica. “Seriously, how come he gets a nice sweater?”

“’Cause I love him,” Erica says easily.

“And I agree to wear either three decent sweaters or one of those a year. She gets to choose which.”

Erica grins. “He wouldn’t wear the vest, though, so it was better this way.”

“I want to make a deal,” Stiles says instantly.

“I don’t love you enough for deals.” Erica shakes her curls out of her face and crosses her arms over her chest. Over the giant, light-up Christmas tree on her sweater. The saddest part is probably how good she makes it look. “As an honorary member of the B&E B&B cult, you have to abide by the official traditions. Them’s the breaks.”

Stiles groans and pulls the sweater on. “I wanted to get one of these for Derek, but this is _not_ what I wanted.”

“Derek gets one, duh,” Erica says. “He’s an honorary member too.”

Stiles pauses. “That makes things better.”

It’s better right up until he gets a look at Derek and realizes what Erica’s done.

“We match.” Stiles’ voice comes out hollow, a strange click in his throat. “She made it so we match.”

“I liked Shelly better,” Derek says darkly. “The hat was so much better than this.”

Stiles loses it.

 

 

Erica and Stiles are playing rummy on the front reception desk. Her shift ends in half an hour and then they’re being dragged along to go shopping with her and Boyd. Stiles is a little afraid for his life Christmas shopping three days before Christmas, but he’s more afraid of Erica. When Erica’s cell vibrates, she frowns at it for a second before picking it up. Stiles moves his cards around. He’s right about ready to… lose miserably no matter what he does. Erica is a rummy _shark_.

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t come in?” Erica snaps. “You know what? This is the fourth time you’ve made me have to find someone to cover you because you were late or decided not to come in. _In three months._ There isn’t going to be a fifth time. You can come pick your last paycheck up after Christmas.”

She hangs up so hard that Stiles winces for the sake of her touchscreen.

Stiles carefully discards an ace. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” Erica picks up, lays out two runs and a set of fives and discards. “I’m out. I already called Kali in the last time he decided to blow work off and I’m not taking away another of her days and Jen’s on maternity leave until January. That’s why I _hired_ Aiden. I should find him and make him eat his own–”

“Okay!” Stiles gathers the cards up and shuffles them. “Derek and I could help?”

“No, I can’t.” Erica glares at the desk. “If I was next door, sure. But I can’t leave somebody with no experience on my front desk. It’s not personal or anything.”

“No worries, I get it.”

Erica shakes her head and sighs. “Besides, I’d feel guilty shopping and leaving you here. But you know what you can do for me? You could go for me. Just to the grocery store and I’ll give you my list.”

“Okay?” Stiles says. “Like Christmas groceries or am I just doing your errands?”

That makes her grin, and some of the tension eases in her shoulders. “Christmas groceries. Every year after our Christmas Eve lunch, we donate the extra to our soup kitchen. So, you know, we need ‘extra’”, Erica says, making air quotes with her fingers. “And a certain somebody forgot to order that.”

“Boyd?”

“No, me. Christmas sneaks up on me.” She hands him a folder with a computer print-out and a Ziploc bag of coupons. Stiles is reluctantly impressed. “There’s a list of everything we like to donate. Things with stars are on sale. Hearts are things that I found coupons for. Try to get whatever’s cheapest so you get the most you can.” Erica narrows her eyes at him. “Think you can handle this?”

Not even a chance. “Sure,” Stiles lies.

Erica gives him a long look. “Okay. And don’t even think about taking off the sweater.”

 

 

“So stars are on sale and hearts are things we have coupons for,” Stiles explains to Derek. “Basically we need to get a shit ton of food for as cheap as possible.”

“Uh.” Derek rests his hand on the side of the cart, apparently not trusting Stiles to drive. Stiles distinctly remembers his mom, grandmother, and anybody else nearby doing the same thing whenever he was in control of a cart as a kid and isn’t sure how exactly he feels about that. “How come, exactly?”

Stiles leans both arms on the handle of the shopping cart and sighs. “Remember the Christmas tree? It’s like that. Money sucks and sometimes people don’t have enough of it. So we’re gonna help them out so that they can have a nice Christmas.”

Derek nods and leans back to glance at the list in the basket of the cart. “One more question?”

“Go for it.”

“Why the holly are we still wearing these sweaters?”

Stiles sighs. “Because Erica is scary and we’re not dumb enough to test her.”

Derek is good at steering the cart so Stiles doesn’t run into anything. Or, uh, _over_ that one kid that runs out in front of him and, really, what is with parents letting their children run wild in the grocery store? He’s also not bad at controlling it when Stiles gets distracted and goes off to look at brightly coloured things. Hey, it’s not his fault that grocery stores have such cool stuff these days.

“I’m pretty sure those are not on the list,” Derek says over his shoulder.

“Snacks for the road?” Stiles says hopefully. “It’s gotta be better than gas station crap, right?”

“I’m not entirely sure I want to eat a cereal that has green snowmen.”

“But it’s Christmas Crunch!” Stiles says. “Look, there are little Santa hats. It’s perfect. We’re getting a box.”

“Why are the snowmen green though?” Derek asks, sounding like he’s going insane. Or questioning Stiles’ sanity.

Stiles got used to that a long time ago, so he chucks the box into the cart and goes back to Erica’s list.

They fill the cart to overflowing – apparently Erica is _really_ good at budgeting – and barely a bag of it ends up being for Stiles’ Jeep snacks stash. Stiles ends up buying a few extra things to donate, too, because, well, why shouldn’t he? The cashier side-eyes their sweaters, but Derek’s kind of scary despite the ugly sweater so Stiles isn’t worried. He could handle it, but it’s nice to have someone with a good enough bitchface to ward off stuff like that.

By the time they leave, Derek is steering the front end of the cart because it’s honestly getting heavy enough that Stiles is having trouble turning. Right outside the door, they almost crash into someone arguing with the Salvation Army bell ringer and Stiles sighs.

“C’mon, man, it’s for a good cause,” the bell ringer says.

Derek turns to look at Stiles, leaning over the cart. “Is it?”

Stiles winces. “Uh. I don’t agree with their politics. C’mon, just… let’s go.”

“What fucking politics?” the bell ringer demands, half turning on him. “It’s fucking charity.”

Stiles groans. “Seriously? I’m not getting into this.”

He steers the cart around the whole scene, keeping it between Derek and the drama. Maybe he’s possibly a little protective but Derek is new to this world and should be occasionally be treated like a delicate flower. A delicate flower that is completely ripped and built and Stiles occasionally has detailed fantasies about rimming until he can’t move… but whatever, the drama is still stupid and they don't need to get involved.

The next thing Stiles knows, something slams into the side of his head. Everything goes _sharp_ for a second, too loud and too bright.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” he hisses through his teeth, reaching his hand up to touch where his ear is ringing like a bitch.

Derek grabs his hands. “Don’t, don’t touch it. You’re bleeding.”

“Shit,” Stiles mutters. “What the fuck was that?”

“Uh.” Derek crouches down for a second and hands Stiles… a bell. “If it helps, I don’t think he was actually aiming at you.”

“A b–” Stiles closes his eyes. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

“I would, but it’d be a lie.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now they’re just fucking with me.”

 

 

“You know, I could just shift over and let this heal,” Stiles says, wincing at the sting of alcohol in the cut above his ear.

“Shh,” Derek tells him seriously. He’s been gingerly dabbing at the bloody mess of Stiles’ left ear – ugh – for a good five, ten minutes. It hurts like a motherfucker everytime he touches it, mind you, but it's sweet enough that he's so worried that Stiles is dealing with it. “And no, you can’t. Erica and Boyd have seen it.”

“I really am fine,” Stiles says. His voice comes out stupidly soft and he can’t help but reach up and touch the surprisingly delicate skin on the inside of Derek’s arm. “It’s fine. Everything is okay.”

“I don’t like that you’re hurt,” Derek admits quietly.

Stiles smiles and pats him on the side. “Yeah, I got that, big guy.”

“Do you want me to send Boyd to kick some ass?” Erica walks into her office like the floor has personally offended her. She’s wearing boots with some sort of thick heel that clips sharply with each step and even her footsteps sound angry. Stiles is just a little turned on – seriously, he has a type – and also just a little afraid. So basically par for the course with the women in his life. “Seriously,” she says, stalking over to where Stiles is sitting on her desk. “He will. Maybe. You know what, I will, and I’m meaner.”

“I fully believe that,” Stiles says, obediently tilting his head so Derek can finish cleaning the cut. If he wants to fuss, Stiles will let him. Although this _is_ getting a little ridiculous “You are terrifying. Honest to God, I’m fine. It’s just a cut.”

Erica shakes her head. “I sent you out there.”

“Well, I’m not going to sue you or anything.”

“I don’t fucking care about that.” Erica yanks open a desk drawer, stares into it for a moment, and slams it shut without taking anything out or, in fact, actually doing anything. “I care you got hurt under my watch. I don’t let that happen to my people. And I want to beat some fucking skulls in.”

Boyd clears his throat from the doorway. “Or you could finish bandaging Stilinski up, I’ll give him an ice pack and let you three have one of my pies.”

Erica narrows her eyes at him. “Pumpkin, apple or pecan?”

“Whichever one you want.”

After a long moment, Erica relaxes visibly. Her shoulders drop, and she smiles long and slow at Boyd. “This is why you’re my favourite, baby.”

Ten minutes later, Stiles’ ear is patched up and they’re in the inn’s kitchen massacring a pie. Boyd is actually doing stuff around them, checking on prep work, rearranging the spices on the rack, wiping down the already pristine cupboards. Stiles thinks maybe he’s not quite as calm as he appears to be, but everyone has their coping methods and who is he to judge?

Erica _demolishes_ half the pecan pie before Derek or Stiles are done eating their quarters. Stiles isn't sure whether to be impressed or frightened. Probably both.

He grins at Boyd. “You make a damn good pie, man.”

Boyd nods and comes over to stand behind Erica. “Thanks. Okay, you’ve been here since balls AM,” he says to her, absently pressing a kiss to her temple. “Time for us to get out of here. You guys can finish up here. Take your time. Just turn the lights off when you leave.”

Erica rolls her eyes. “Boyd–”

“Executive decision.”

She sighs. “Yeah, yeah, okay. See you guys tomorrow.”

“Thanks for the pie,” Derek says to Boyd as they leave.

When they’re alone, Stiles gingerly touches his ear. It stings like a bitch, still. “I’m not gonna be able to heal this at all, am I?”

“Probably not.”

Stiles shrugs. It won’t be the first time he’s healed something the human way. Far from it, actually. He was a clumsy child. There were many a scrape and a bruise people saw that he had to leave to heal. Not a big deal.

“Only three more sleeps until Christmas,” Derek says between bites of pie.

Stiles snorts. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Derek pauses. “Is that a weird thing to say here?”

“No, not really.” Stiles shakes his head. “I just… you’re cute, is all.”

“Oh.” Derek _blushes_ , which will never not be Stiles’ favourite thing. “So are you.”

Damn it. Now Stiles is blushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you would like a visual aid for the sweaters, try [this post](http://barlowstreet.tumblr.com/post/70840025632/more-this-is-the-sweater-boyds-wearing).
> 
> Also Christmas crunch is [totally a real thing](http://www.amazon.com/Capn-Crunchs-Christmas-Crunch-Limited/dp/B0066D9CFY). Honestly, I'm not sure I'd wanna eat green snowmen either :P


	11. Snowglobe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS WE'RE ALMOST DONE. I'm so sad!! This has been so much fun and you've all be really awesome with the kudosing and the bookmarking and all the comments! I'm going to miss this fic!
> 
> So, yeah, the last chapter will be up tomorrow. This chapter is... a little bit of fun ;)

When Stiles wakes up, Derek is singing Christmas carols in the shower. Off-key and not very well at all, if Stiles is being honest. Honestly, it’s probably one of the dorkiest, goofiest versions of Jingle Bell Rock that he’s ever heard. It’s also one of the happiest, though, and he rolls onto his back, resting his arm under his head for a moment to listen, the other hand on his stomach.

Serious dorkness going on there, Stiles thinks with a smile. Serious… naked… dorkness.

And what the fuck is he still doing in bed?

It takes about three seconds for Stiles to bolt out of bed, briefly getting tangled in the blankets and tripping before he catches himself. Mostly because he’s already taking his shirt off. Derek’s even left the door open. How on earth is Stiles supposed to resist _that_? He’s even still singing when Stiles gets into the bathroom. Stiles is half-naked by this point, pausing with his hands on his waistband. Possibly he should give Derek some sort of warning that he’s in the bathroom instead of yanking open the shower curtain and accidentally re-enacting naked gay Psycho.

Yeah. Possibly that’d be a good idea.

Stiles backtracks to stand next to the door and knocks on it.

Cutting himself off halfway through a lyric, Derek makes a noise like he’s drowning. “What!?”

Stiles bites his tongue to keep from laughing. Oh, he’s a terrible person. He really is. Though he's not really a person, so maybe it's okay he's terrible at being one sometimes. He's a pretty good half-monster, he thinks. Most of the time, anyways.

“Can I come in?” Stiles asks, already moving silently towards the shower.

“Sure,” Derek says, his voice still unsteady.

Grinning, Stiles crosses to just in front of the shower. He reaches over and knocks lightly on the wall next to the shower. “Can I come in?”

“Uh… sure?” Derek says uncertainly.

_Sure_ , Stiles mouths to himself, but the corner of his lips lift almost against his will. He shoves his pajama pants down along with his underwear and only briefly gets caught in the legs. Then he’s sliding the curtain back and –

“You have a tattoo?” Stiles blurts. Probably ruining the moment. But it's also probably best they got that out of the way now because it was bound to happen. He’s kind of a moment ruiner. “What’s it mean to you?”

“It’s a triskele,” Derek says. He glances at Stiles over his shoulder. His ears and the back of his neck are a deep red and honest to God, that’s what makes Stiles step into the bathtub and tug the shower curtain shut against the draft. Well. That and Derek’s ass. “Means a lot to my family.”

“Celtic, right?” Stiles steps closer, lifting his hand to trace the spirals. “We have a few of these floating around back home. Mother, father, child. Past, present, future. Spirit, mind, body,” he says, his voice going hoarse on him the more he touches Derek’s back. God, his _skin_. “Creation, preservation, destruction.”

Derek groans and drops his head down between his shoulders. “ _Stiles_.”

“Hmm?” Closing the distance between them, Stiles presses an open-mouthed kiss against the back of Derek’s neck. “Was I doing something?”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Derek manages.

“I know. It’s only the twenty-third.” Stiles touches the knuckles of two fingers to the dip right above Derek’s ass, and draws them oh- _so_ -slowly up his spine. Derek shudders under the touch. “We can stop if you want. Don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Derek has both forearms braced on the shower wall. The spray of water from the showerhead sluices over his back, the black ink of his tattoo gleaming against the gold of his skin under it. It’s taking everything Stiles has not to be putting his hands over every damn inch of Derek’s back because the play of muscle under his skin is amazing. And his ass… oh, God, his ass.

“I want to.” Derek shifts, his stance widening. “I do. I want you.”

“Good ’cause I want you, too.” Stiles cups his hands around Derek’s waist, gently pressing his thumbs into Derek’s back. He massages his thumbs in light circles, enjoying the feel of firm muscle jumping under his touch. “You know I care now, right?”

“Yeah.” Derek exhales slowly. “I know. Sorry.”

Stiles reaches over and grabs one of the bottles of body wash Erica has stocked their shower with. It’s nice stuff, thick and rich, and Stiles is pretty sure there are several more bottles in the shower today than there were the first day they stayed here. Perks of being special slightly magical guests, he supposes as he rubs the foam between his hands. “I think I could bring myself to forgive you.” Stiles presses his palms to Derek’s shoulders, giving them a nice firm rub before working the suds down Derek’s back. When his fingers brush against Derek’s ribs, Derek jumps and Stiles pauses. “Really? You’re ticklish?”

“Stiles, so help me–”

“I’m not gonna _do_ anything,” Stiles says indignantly. Well. _Yet_. He makes no promises about later. “Just wanted to know if you’re gonna get antsy if I do this.”

He draws his hands down Derek’s sides, slow and smooth with the suds between their skin.

“Or this…,” he adds, and slides his hands forward. Then he has a nice handful of glorious, wonderful _abs_. Oh, yes, that’s a nice, nice thing. How the hell does an elf even have abs like that? Stiles has seen his sweet tooth. It shouldn’t be possible. Good, good abs. Also nice perky little nipples, he thinks, as he flicks his thumbs over them.

Derek inhales sharply, and turns his face into his own arm.

“Sensitive?’ Stiles circles one nipple with his thumb, enjoying how Derek shivers right up until he decides to get clever and presses his ass back against Stiles’ dick. And then… then he kinda has to just hold on for a moment with his forehead against Derek’s shoulder to keep from coming then and there.

“Sensitive?” Derek retorts. Smartass.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You’re an asshole.” He pauses with his hand on Derek’s stomach, rubbing his knuckles gently against the groove of Derek’s abs. “Hey. You wanna try something? Promise it’ll feel good.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Stiles repeats, barely managing not to laugh at the half-blissed out tone of Derek's voice, and grabs one of the bottles of conditioner. He flips the lid and squeezes some out. It’s not exactly ideal lube but it’ll work for this, and he runs a slick hand over himself. “Move your legs together a little.”

Derek nods and does what Stiles says. Which is just-

“Perfect,” Stiles breathes and slides into the tight, hot space between Derek’s thighs. “You’re so good.” Stiles cups one hand over Derek’s shoulder, arm crossed over his chest to hold onto him as he thrusts forward experimentally. “Feel okay for you?”

Derek nods, his face still pressed into his arm. A little voice in the back of Stiles’ head worries slightly that he’s going to drown himself like that. But also he’s shaking already, a fine tremor running through his muscles that Stiles can feel now that he’s pressed up tight and close against him, so there are probably more important things going on here. Derek'll breathe if he needs to.

“Should have packed lube,” Stiles mumbles into the skin at the back of Derek’s neck as he rocks his hips against Derek’s, his cock sliding against the space behind Derek's balls. Hopefully it feels as goddamn amazing for Derek as Stiles. The way he's trembling and gasping here and there, his fingers clenching against the shower wall, Stiles is pretty sure it's working for him. “Then I could have fucked you. Fingered you open nice and slow. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Derek answers, his voice rough and low. 

Stiles grins shakily and presses a kiss against the damp hair curling at the base of Derek’s skull. “Yeah. I would have fingered you for ages, just ’cause I could. Just to make you feel good. Make you want it. Maybe make you come just like that. Let you get all relaxed and endorphiny and completely worked over and orgasm stupid.”

“Stiles, _please_ ,” Derek groans.

“You need something?” Stiles asks perkily. He's fairly certain he knows, but what's the fun in admitting that right away?

“I’ll do it myself,” Derek threatens, and yeah, okay, Stiles can’t have that, can he?

So he rubs his hand down Derek’s stomach and wraps his fingers around his cock. He’s hard and hot with blood. Probably leaking, but it’s hard to tell with the water soaking them both. He leaked a lot last time, though, leaked enough to made them slide together slick and easy. And he’s nice and thick, too, and Stiles is going to have to take advantage of that at some point. Possibly many, many times. In several positions.

“Maybe next time I’ll blow you,” Stiles says right against Derek’s ear, lips brushing the shell of it with each word.

Derek’s breath catches in his throat and he comes all over Stiles’ knuckles.

Stiles works Derek through his orgasm, and then lets his hand go still in case Derek gets too sensitive.

“Can I finish like this or do you want me to stop?” he asks softly.

Derek gives a laugh, warm and loose like Stiles has never quite heard him laugh. “Knock yourself out. I’ll just… try not to fall over.”

“Yeah,” Stiles groans and scrapes his teeth lightly across the thick cord of Derek’s neck just to feel him shudder. “Yeah, I get that,” he says and has to hold onto Derek to stay upright as he comes.

The water’s going cold by the time they get themselves together enough to stumble back to the bed. They’re both still wet and really this wasn’t a very effective shower at all, but Stiles can’t quit grinning as he sprawls next to Derek.

“I don’t wanna move,” Derek mumbles, his face half-buried in the pillow. “Can we just stay here all day?”

Stiles snort. “Well, you know. Gotta save Christmas and all.”

“Or sex. We could do the sex thing again,” Derek says with his eyes – well, one eye that’s visible – closed.

Stiles reaches over and runs his fingers through Derek’s hair. “I did promise you a blowjob, didn’t I?”

 

 

By the time they make it downstairs, it’s almost ten o’clock and Erica is _definitely_ judging them when they stumble into the kitchen.

“I can’t even look at you,” she says, tossing a muffin at Stiles. He manages to catch it before it smacks him in the face, but barely. His reflexes probably aren't going to recover for a couple _days_. “I’m actually a little embarrassed by you two right now. You missed breakfast. There’s leftovers on the table. Help yourself, but realize I'm judging you.”

"I usually assume you are anyways." Stiles takes a bite out of the muffin – mm, lemon – and speaks around it. “What are you doing today?”

“Thank you for that,” Erica says, making a face. “That was attractive. I’ve got to run up to grab something from a couple towns over.”

“Want company? Or help?”

She shrugs. “If you want to come. Oh, God, I didn’t say that. No jokes or I’ll hurt you.” She glares at Stiles for a long moment until he takes a big enough bite of his muffin to keep himself quiet, then glances at Derek. “How about you, Derek?”

“Thanks, but no,” Derek says, picking up an orange. He tosses it once, catching it easily. “Have fun though,” he says, and walks over to tuck the orange into Stiles’ hoodie pocket. “Stay warm.”

Erica rolls her eyes. “Oh, for the love of God, just make out already. I’ll wait for you in my car, Stiles. Do not fuck in my kitchen.”

“It’s Boyd’s kitchen,” Stiles says just to make her flip him off. When she leaves, he turns to face Derek. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.” Derek closes the distance between them, catches Stiles’ face in his hands, and kisses him. Stiles’ knees may or may not be jelly by the time he’s done. “See you.”

Yeah. Jelly.

“You’re disgusting,” Erica says when he gets in her car. “Wipe that goofy look off your face.”

Stiles takes the orange out of his pocket and smiles at it. Goofily, he’s certain. He feels goofy. And silly. And dorky, and warm and fuzzy, and a little squishy inside. He's a little conflicted about the mishmosh of emotions going on, but also he's got enough of the dorky-squishy-warm-fuzzies going on that he doesn't really care. “I’m not entirely sure I can.”

“Disgusting,” Erica singsongs.

Stiles shakes his head and slides the orange back into his pocket. “Where are we going anyways?”

“No telling or I’ll feed your dick to you. I’m picking up Boyd’s Christmas present.”

“And you’re making fun of me for being sappy?” Stiles retorts, but he’s smiling. He's been doing that a lot today. “What’d you get him?”

Erica taps the brake as they come up to an intersection, slowing to a stop. “A new Kitchen-Aid. We have one at the inn, but at home, he’s been using the one his mother pawned off on him when he moved out _since_ he moved out. He hates it, but he’s too practical to buy a new one when it still works fine.”

Stiles presses his hands to his head. “You downright softie.”

“Shut up,” Erica says, grinning. “He’ll like it.”

“I’m sure he will,” Stiles says. He glances out the passenger side window. They came in a different way from this and he hasn’t driven this way yet.

That’s why he doesn’t see the truck that hits them.

 

 

Stiles’ head is _throbbing_. It feels like someone has tried to shove a goddamn ice pick into his brain. And left it there to torture him as he dies, God. He tries to lift his arm and that hurts way too much.

“Oh, God,” he manages and eventually pries his eyes open. He’s – are they crooked? Oh… they’re in a ditch. Okay. He tries his door, but it won’t open and it takes him way too long to find the handle in the first place when he tries. This is so not good.

Erica isn’t moving.

“Shit.”

Stiles fumbles at his seatbelt with his left hand until it finally unlatches. For a moment, he slumps against the door frame. This isn’t going to be fun.

“Okay,” he rasps, his throat aching. “Okay, you’re not allowed to kill me for this.”

With one arm useless, it’s not exactly easy to crawl across Erica and fumble his way to open her door. He more falls out then anything and he has to lay on the ground for a couple minutes to recover.

He knows you’re not supposed to move humans who’ve been in a car accident in case they have a spine injury, but he’s terrified the car might leak gas. So he drags himself to his feet and carefully slips an arm under Erica to hold her in place before unbuckling her seatbelt. Then he pulls her out of the car and he can’t really carry her, but he manages to get them both far enough away from the car that he feels safe collapsing on the ground next to her.

He dials 911 and manages to hear the operator answer before passing out.

 

 

“C’mon, I’m fine,” Stiles says as he eases down onto the bed. “Stop fussing, oh my God.”

Erica glares at him and tosses another pillow at him. “You probably saved my life, you dork.”

“Oh, it was only a little explosion,” Stiles protests. Possibly it’s not his best argument. But he’s looped out on pain meds and he doesn’t think it’s fair to judge him right now. “And seriously, please stop it. You have a concussion. Go… not take a nap or something.”

“I got this,” Boyd says and pulls his wallet out of his pocket. He ruffles around in it for a moment, then hands Erica a small green card. From the look on Erica’s face, Stiles either _really_ wants to know what’s on it, or _really_ does _not_ want to know what’s on it. He’s just not sure which.

She stares at it, then at Boyd, then at the card again. “Really? You’re – _really_?”

“If it gets you to take it easy for a bit, sure.” Boyd frowns. “But not til after Christmas.”

“Well, yeah, we’re way too busy right now. Shit.” Erica tucks the card down her bra and grins at Stiles. “Okay, well, see ya.”

She spins on her heels and heads for the door.

Boyd hesitates, taking something out of his pocket. He tosses it and Stiles fumbles over himself to catch it with his left hand. “Thanks. For taking care of her.”

“Oh,” Stiles says very quietly. “Yeah. Um. Yeah.”

A moment later, Derek sits down next to him. He pulls one of Stiles’ feet into his lap and takes his sock off. He rubs his thumb gently against the arch of Stiles’ foot for a moment, then switches feet.

“I think I just witnessed something I’m not sure I really wanted to witness,” Stiles says. “Snow globe today, huh?”

“He, uh, he kinda was freaking out a little while they were examining Erica,” Derek says. “I dragged him down to the gift shop to try and distract him. Make a wish?”

“What?”

Derek covers Stiles’ hand with his. “It’s tradition. When someone gives you a snow globe as a gift, you get to make a wish.”

“Didn’t that get Elmo into a bunch of trouble?” Stiles mumbles, rubbing his thumb lightly over the base.

Derek flashes a grin. “I didn’t say the wish was guaranteed to come true. And wishing for it to be Christmas everyday is banned anyways.”

Stiles blinks. “You know what Elmo is?” Stiles only knows about the movie because his mom thought he should have an opportunity to experience human things related to the holidays, and if that meant Christmas movies in July at his grandmother's, so be it. "Dude, you didn't even know what coffee tasted like. How do you know Elmo?"

Derek shakes his head. “I work for Santa. I know about Elmo.” Derek shakes the snow globe between their hands until snow flies down around the little Christmas tree and snowman. “Make a wish with me, Stiles.”

Stiles looks down at where their hands touch and wishes.


	12. Christmas Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL, Merry Christmas you guys! And happy day off that you don't care about much for anyone who doesn't celebrate it!
> 
> I'd like to again thank you all for reading this and for commenting and kudosing and just generally for being awesome. Another thanks to [Elle Marchpane](http://ellemarchpane.tumblr.com) for beta-ing this and for being supportive and amazing. I really am going to miss this verse!

Stiles is _sore_. And not the fun kind of sore. He’s got bruises everywhere, and yet again, he's wearing a cast, this time for his broken wrist that he can’t heal because a miraculous healing would look somewhat suspicious to Erica and Boyd. So he’s awake, because he woke up and his body hurts a little too much to move around a lot just yet, but he can’t fall back asleep either. At least the bed is comfortable. Erica put about eight extra pillows on it last night while fussing at him.

The Derek wrapped around him helps with the comfortable thing, too.

Right up until he bolts upright. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

Stiles very, very carefully does not move. If he moves, he’s going to die. “Yes it is. Also. Ow.”

“Sorry.” Derek blinks a few times and carefully settles back down against Stiles. “I panicked. Habit.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Derek says and kisses him.

 

 

“Well, you look like crap,” Erica says and eases herself down into the chair next to Stiles. She has a bruise under her left eye… and sparkly green eyeshadow on. No matter how old he gets, Stiles will never understand women.

He glares at her. “I can’t reply to that because you’ll kill me.”

“You know it,” Erica says, smiling as takes a drink of her coffee. “God, I haven’t been sore like this since college.”

“ _Erica_ ,” Boyd says tightly.

She turns ever so slightly pink. “You _know_ that’s not what I meant.”

“Sorry.” Boyd sets a plate of pancakes down in front of her and leans in to kiss her cheek. “You want eggs?”

“No, I’m okay.” She catches his wrist and pulls at him. “Come sit down and eat. We have enough to eat. Relax while you can, honey.” When Boyd nods and drops onto the seat next to her, she rubs gently at his wrist with her thumb. Her face is probably the softest Stiles has ever seen as she looks at Boyd. “You gonna try and get some sleep after breakfast?”

Boyd grabs a plate and starts loading it up. “I don’t know, I–”

“Lunch isn’t until two,” Erica says firmly. “And I am perfectly capable of putting a couple of turkeys in the oven. You have them all ready to go and you can write down instructions for me if you want. You’re going to get a couple hours of sleep.”

“You are the bossiest person I’ve ever met,” Boyd says.

“That’s why you love me.”

“Among other things,” Boyd says and grins down at her.

Stiles is drinking strong, strong coffee out of a mug with Santa Claus on it. There’s a mug of very pale, very sweetened coffee in front of Derek - who is less than wide awake at this point - with a candy cane in it. Seriously with the sweet tooth. Erica has a Santa hat perched jauntily on her hair and glitter on her face and Stiles has honest to God met elves that look less jolly than her. Derek, for one. Especially in the morning. Boyd’s holding her hand under the table and eating one-handed to do so, and Stiles kind of never wants to leave.

Derek reaches over and cuts Stiles’ half-mangled pancakes up into pieces – cutting stuff with one hand isn’t so easy, okay? And Boyd is a show-off for managing it just fine.

Yeah. Stiles never wants to leave.

“You’re going to be a lot of help today, huh?” Erica says.

Stiles narrows his eyes at her. “I saved your life.”

“That was yesterday. This is today.”

 

 

Erica puts them to work after Boyd goes to catch some sleep.

“He works himself half to death every year,” she says and sets a bag of potatoes in front of Derek. “I would seriously be happy eating Chinese food as long as I got to make dirty jokes about unwrapping him under the Christmas tree.”

“Erica,” Stiles protests.

She sticks her tongue out at him. “Find something to do, Stiles, or this is going to be a bloody Christmas.”

Stiles sets a cutting board down next to Derek and frowns at the pages of recipes taped to the cupboards. “Is he gonna kill us for doing this? I want you to know I am also afraid of Boyd. More afraid of you," he adds, and Erica nods in approval. "But also afraid of him.”

“Nah, we’re only gonna do the things he doesn’t like. Plus we’re doing this again tomorrow for my parents,” Erica says. “So today’s basically just the warm-up round. He can have his kitchen tomorrow all to himself while I deal with my mother.”

Stiles pokes at the loaf of bread in front of him. This could be… manageable. Possibly. Maybe. “Are you close?”

Erica shrugs as she chops up apples with an efficiency that scares Stiles somewhat. “Much closer now that I don’t live with them. We had some rough times when I was a teenager. What about you guys?”

Very, very carefully, Stiles starts to cut the bread into chunks. They aren’t really _square_ chunks, but it’ll taste the same, right? “My dad and I spend Christmas with my grandparents. My grandpa’s a giant dork about Christmas. Grandma makes dinner. We just spend it together.” He nudges Derek carefully. “Hey, how about you?”

“Uh.” Derek drops a handful of potatoes into a huge pot of water. “Usually my family is up all night. So we sleep late and then have dinner together. Do the present thing. Just… we’re together.”

“Aw.” Erica smiles down at her cutting board. “Okay. Enough with the sappy stuff. Stiles, please stop mangling the bread. Go set the dining room up. I think you can manage that, can’t you?” She pauses. “Uh, Derek, you can go with him to make sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

They’re halfway out the door when Erica snaps her fingers.

Stiles freezes immediately. “What?”

“Look up,” she says and… _she’s_ not even looking at them. How did she even…?

“Mistletoe,” Derek says.

Stiles looks up. “Oh.”

“It’s tradition and so help me God, I will rip your tongues out of your mouth if you fight me on this.”

Never let it be said that Stiles is stupid.

 

 

Possibly they got a little distracted after the mistletoe. Stiles is injured and healing here, okay? He needs frequent breaks. And if those frequent breaks happen to coincide with Stiles ending up with stubble burn… well, his skin has always been easily irritated. That’s not his fault.

“We should, uh…” Derek’s voice trails off for a moment when Stiles starts to suck lightly at the sensitive spot just under his ear. “Uh. Do whatever Erica said to do.”

“Probably,” Stiles says. “Probably, yeah. Yeah. ’Cause otherwise she’s gonna kill us. C’mere and let me kiss you a little more and then we’ll go do stuff.”

Erica eventually separates them. She’s starting to look pretty wild-eyed so Stiles isn’t going to argue with her. The last time he argued with Lydia when she looked like that, he ended up spending three days on her shelf. As a frog. Stuck next to a gnome that wouldn't  _fucking_ shut up.

Plus Erica takes Derek with her when she leaves so he pretty much has to get to work. It’s not nearly as much fun slacking off by himself.

So he balances three boxes of candy canes on his cast and heads to the front desk.

“I come bearing candy,” he says to the honest to God stunning brunette at the reception desk. “Erica says these are the last three boxes and she’s not buying more until they’re on sale after Christmas. Also, hi, I’m Stiles.”

“Kali.” She uses a nail to pop open the plastic of the boxes and manages to make it one of the scariest things Stiles has ever seen, then dumps the candy canes into a wicker basket on the desk. “I heard you saved Erica’s life.”

Stiles can _feel_ himself blushing. “Uh. No? I mean, I just tried to make sure she was okay. And then passed out.”

Kali stands up, pressing both palms flat against the surface of the desk and leaning towards Stiles. “You know that Erica is my best friend. Don’t you?”

Stiles swallows, hard, very careful to keep himself from looking down even a little bit. “No. No, I did not, actually. That’s – that’s beautiful, it really is.”

Kali narrows her eyes. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Yeah. She’s, uh, I’m quite fond of her myself,” Stiles says, and holy God, it’s awkward trying to fill the silence when someone is looking at you like they want to murder you, dismember you, and hide your body where nobody would ever find the pieces. “She’s – she and Boyd have both been real nice to us. Me and Derek. Who I should check in with pretty soon here.” Who knows where he is and will know if he disappears. “They – they’re very good people.”

Kali smiles, slowly, and it’s _terrifying_. Then – then she hands Stiles a candy cane. “Merry Christmas.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles says and bolts before she decides to kill him after all. Also he possibly needs to hide until his fear-boner goes away.

 

 

Erica has left him in charge of decorating the dining room. It’s been festive-looking the entire time they’ve been there as far as Stiles is concerned, but he’s supposed to be putting the last finishing touches on for today’s lunch.

“Candy canes, check,” Stiles murmurs to himself. Next, he sets up a tiny Christmas tree on the table next to the fire place. There’s a few pretty glass ornaments that he puts on, then the tiny star, a sparkling snowflake, and a tiny, slightly demented looking snowman. Stiles didn't realize snowmen could look like they were one bad move away from murdering you in your sleep. Right about when he’s sliding chocolate reindeer into the employee’s stockings over the fireplace is when he starts to frown at the list Erica has left him.

“Candy canes. Christmas tree. Ornament. Star. Snowflake. Snowman. Reindeer.” Stiles picks up the envelopes in the box Erica left him. They have tiny little bells in a frame around the edges and are addressed from ‘Santa Claus’. “Christmas letter. Bells.”

“Sounds familiar,” Derek’s voice says in his ear. A moment later, his arms slip around Stiles’ waist and stubble rubs up against the back of his neck. “Couldn’t tell you why, though. Is there a–?”

Silently, Stiles lifts the snow globe out of the box.

Derek stays quiet for a long moment. “Does Erica frighten you as much as she frightens me?”

“Absolutely.” Stiles reaches back and pats vaguely in Derek’s direction. “Wanna go see how long we can fool around before she catches us and murders us?”

Derek presses an open-mouthed kiss against the base of Stiles’ spine. “Why do you think I escaped?”

 

 

Obviously Stiles isn’t exactly an expert on Christmas. It’s a lot of fun having it around Jack in general and he honestly doesn’t mind helping out when they need him, but he doesn’t know the kinds of ins and outs that go on there. And he’s okay with that, mostly, but right now? Right now, he’s kind of wishing he knew more. He wishes he knew what the look on Derek’s face meant. He doesn’t – the “sometimes people don’t have enough money to afford things and it sucks” conversation wasn’t fun already. Stiles doesn’t want to have the “sometimes people don’t have enough food” conversation.

“Do you wanna talk?” Stiles asks carefully.

Derek rubs his hand across the back of his neck. “Uh. No. I don’t think so. I think I understand. I just… it’s not fair.”

“No.” Stiles squeezes his arm. “It’s not.”

Derek sighs and nods. “Okay. Let’s go help out.”

It’s not as depressing as Stiles thought it would be. Sue him, he didn’t exactly think that soup kitchens would be cheerful places to be at Christmas. It was always pretty removed, anyways. Something he saw on reruns of sitcoms during summers at his grandmother’s house. And he’s a little ashamed of that right now. But the room is decorated. There’s a little Christmas tree in the corner and decorations and more families than Stiles expected. And it’s loud, with people talking, and that’s… that seems like a good thing.

When everyone is finally eating, Erica leans against Boyd. She’s holding a can of Coke and flushed from working. “Good year, babe. Merry Christmas.”

Boyd drops a kiss onto her head. “Merry Christmas.”

Stiles cracks open a can of root beer. He’s _dying_ of thirst and there hasn’t been a slow moment for the last two hours.

Erica leans over and pokes him. Gently, he’ll admit. “Hey, some of the kids knocked stuff off the Christmas tree. Could you go hang it back up?”

Stiles raises and eyebrow. “Yeah, sure, let’s go send the guy with one arm to decorate. _Again_.”

“Shoo,” Erica says.

Derek snorts. “I’ll help.”

The tree is kind of pathetic. It’s short, skinny and sparse in the branch department. Stiles is pretty sure it was donated, though, and it’s honestly kind of beautiful. Resting on top of the fake presents under the tree are a handful of plastic ornaments and Stiles carefully lowers himself to his knees. Bending is still kinda not so fun. He’s not hurting so much today – there may possibly have been some nice painkillers prescribed to him by the very nice ER doctor who did not actually think he was a teenager – but he’s still stiff.

And not in the fun way.

“You doing okay?” Derek asks quietly as he kneels down next to Stiles and starts hanging decorations.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Stiles reaches for an ornament, his hand brushing against one of the boxes, and – freezes. “Derek.”

Derek isn’t paying attention, rearranging Christmas ornaments like the neurotic elf he is. Stiles is half charmed and half annoyed. He sort of wants to kiss Derek and poke him at the same time. “Hmm?”

“I found it.”

“Good,” Derek says absently and really, Stiles is going to have to have words with him about listening. Then Derek nearly drops an ornament. “ _What_?”

Stiles swallows, hard, and pulls a small box out from under the tree. It’s not very big, wrapped in paper covered in reindeer.

“A Christmas present.” Stiles carefully fixes the bow where it’s gone a little crooked. “It’s heavy. I don’t think it’s empty.”

Derek leans over and pulls the tag to the front. “It has our names on it.”

“Should we open it?”

Derek frowns. “It’s not Christmas yet.”

Stiles snickers. “You’re such a nerd, oh my God.” He hesitates, and then hands the box to Derek. “Well, we did it. Merry Christmas, I guess.”

“Merry Christmas,” Derek says, still staring at the present. He’s frowning, scowling, really, at it, like it kicked his freaking puppy.

And it’s not fair. They’ve spent the last twelve days tracking down random magical knickknacks. Stiles has broken his bones _twice_ , he’s ended up trapped in a condemned barn with a terrified kitten, he’s worn an utterly ridiculous Christmas sweater in public. They’ve _earned_ this. They found every single silly little thing that was demanded and they should have fixed Christmas. Stiles broke Christmas and this should have fixed it.

He sighs and brushes the backs of his knuckles lightly down Derek’s arm. “What’s up, big guy?”

Derek shakes his head. “I – it doesn’t feel right,” he says, his voice catching in his throat a little. “I mean, it’s today’s thing, I know that. I can feel it. But I don’t – I don’t know. This doesn’t feel like what we’re supposed to do.”

It takes him a moment to get it. In his defence, Stiles is on some decent pain medication and he’s ever so slightly fuzzy-headed. Eventually, he does understand, though, and nods to himself. “Yeah. Okay. So you know this kind of thing better than me. I’m more of a Halloween type guy. You wanna know what scares a kid just right, I’m your man, but this is probably your thing. So.” He reaches over and pulls the name tag off the present. “You tell me who you think this present really belongs to.”

Derek exhales and his face goes soft. “Do you remember that little girl at the parade?”

“The one who gave you her letter for Santa?”

Derek nods across the room. “It’s her's.”

Stiles hangs the last ornament back on the tree. “Well. Maybe you should go make sure she gets it. If it’s her's.”

“It is.” Derek leans over and drops a quick kiss onto Stiles’ cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

The mature thing to do would be to let Derek handle this on his own.

So of course Stiles immediately goes to spy on him.

He ends up standing around a few tables over awkwardly pretending to clean to watch. He’s not the only one looking at Derek, though, so it’s probably okay.

To be fair to them and, you know, Stiles, Derek is a sight for sore eyes. There’s the whole thing where he still looks ridiculously good in the stupid hats to cover his ears, and the sweaters, oh, God, the sweaters. They’re old man sweaters and by all accounts, they should look terrible, but that whole thing where Derek’s arms look like they could crush _melons_ make it just… not fair. Especially not when Derek crouches down in front of the girl because honestly, if Stiles had ovaries, they’d be exploding. Derek’s face has gone soft as he crouches down in front of the bench where the little girl is sitting. She’s wearing a sparkly holiday dress and winter boots and the combination is probably one of the top ten cutest things Stiles has ever seen.

Derek talks to her for a moment. At one point, she touches her ear and Derek grins.

And Stiles’ heart breaks a little.

Eventually Derek hands her the present and she _beams_ at him. Derek nods several times more after that, patiently listening and, yeah.

Stiles is so gone.

 

 

“Five… four… three… two…” Stiles swallows, and turns his phone towards Derek. “One. Merry Christmas?”

They’re sitting on the floor in Erica and Boyd’s darkened kitchen, sharing a beer that Derek isn’t really letting Stiles drink, and Derek looks like his heart just broke.

He nods.

Stiles leans forward. “I’m so, so sorry. This is my fault. I ruined… I ruined everything.”

“No.” Derek squeezes Stiles’ foot where it’s resting in his lap. His touch is gentle, and part of Stiles wishes he'd get angry. Part of Stiles wishes that Derek would lash out just so Stiles could get angry and he wouldn't feel so bad. “No, it’s not your fault. It was my idea to give her the present.”

“Now, do you really think I’d let either of you ruin Christmas?”

It’s not one of his prouder moments, but Stiles nearly pterodactyl-screeches and possibly kicks Derek in his panic to get up. In his defence, as soon as he’s on his feet, he’s grabbing Derek by the back collar of his shirt and trying to yank him to his feet. Strangling him a little in the process, but it’s the thought that counts when you’re saving someone from an axe murderer, right?

“Santa?” Derek chokes out and Stiles freezes.

Very slowly, he turns around – and lets go of Derek’s shirt before he kills him. “Santa?”

“Merry Christmas,” Santa says. “Should I assume you have some things to give me?”

Derek seems to be kind of frozen in place so Stiles rushes to grab the velvet bag they’ve been keeping everything in.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, handing the bag to Santa. “We tried to do the right thing, but… we didn’t end up getting everything. Well, we did, but… we gave the present away. I have… would this be okay?” Stiles reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out the orange he’s had in there since yesterday. He's been holding onto it as sort of a good luck charm, after he found it in his pocket at the hospital, in perfect shape. “It was a present from an elf, so, like, that counts, right? I know it's not the same as the magic-y one, but that - there was a little girl who needed it," Stiles says, "And - could this work? Please?”

Santa takes the orange from him. “What do you think, Stiles?”

What does _he_ think? He scrubs his free hand through his hair. “I think it’s not fair that Christmas should be ruined because of me. I don’t think it’s fair at all. I know I made a mistake. But I’m one skeleton. I’m not that important.”

“And, Derek, what about you?” Santa asks.

“I think he is important,” Derek says behind him. A moment later, there’s a warm hand on Stiles’ back. “He cares very much and did a lot of work trying to save our holiday. He’s important.”

“Now you’ve got it.” Santa takes the orange out of Stiles’ hand and drops it into the velvet bag. “And I’m going to have to ask you again. Do you really think I’d let you ruin Christmas?”

“It was _fake?_ ” Stiles blurts.

“Of course not.” Santa closes the sack. “It _was_ a very important star. It’s the third oldest I owned.”

“Third oldest,” Stiles repeats.

“You _lied_ to us?” Derek blurts. Stiles has never heard anyone sound more offended in his entire life. “That tree is the tree that you put the first gift under. It’s – it’s what starts Christmas. Isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Santa allows. “But it’s the act of giving that starts Christmas. You know that, Derek, don’t you?”

“We – we didn’t ruin Christmas?” Stiles says, just to be sure.

Santa gives him a long look. “Do you think after your grandfather, I would let you get away with that?”

Stiles is going to need a moment to process things here. He's spent the last nearly two weeks thinking he ruined Christmas, that he was going to cause millions of children to be disappointed and put Derek and Derek's family and the entire population of Christmas Town out of work. He might need more than a minute, actually. “So – wait, you – what? It was never in any danger?”

“Of course not,” Santa says and laughs. “But you needed to learn a lesson,” he says, pointing one finger at Derek, “And _you_. Well. I know you try, Stiles, and you do help, but you also get in the way quite a bit. You needed something to keep you busy.”

“I could have helped with toys,” Stiles grumbles. “Why will no one acknowledge that I’m good at that? Kids are weird these days! They like the weird shi – _stuff_ now.”

“You’re a walking disaster,” Derek says flatly.

“And you’re mean for an elf,” Stiles replies, but he’s grinning despite himself. “But everything is okay? For real?”

“Indeed it is.” Santa pushes his sleeve up and looks at his watch. “In fact, I need to get going if I’m going to make it to Russia on time. I still need to run home and get this star on the tree,” he says, pulling a sparkling crystal star out of the bag. Magic, man. Stiles can suddenly understand why his grandfather was so transfixed by Christmas the first time he saw it. Why he still is.

Derek rubs his hand down Stiles’ back once and steps in front of him. “Sir, could I talk to you for a moment before you go? It’s important.”

 

 

Derek sits down on the side of the window seat in the living room. Stiles is long past the point where sitting on the floor is comfortable. Plus once he plugged in the Christmas tree lights and turned off every other light, it ended up being real pretty and it’s nice to sit there and relax for what feels like the first time in weeks. Everything's okay, and he's - he's happy.

“Hey,” Stiles says as Derek lifts his feet into his lap again. “Good conversation?”

“Yeah.” Derek rubs his knee up Stiles’ leg. “I, uh. I asked for a transfer. I’ve decided that my current position has me working too much." He clears his throat and looks so damn shy that Stiles wants to kiss him silly. "I was thinking about doing some traveling this year. Maybe go see what some other places are like. I've heard Halloween Town is nice.”

“Really?” Stiles grins. “I think I know somewhere you could stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!


End file.
